And so, Our Story Begins
by superzombiedestroyer123
Summary: It has been nearly five years after The Battle of Hogwarts, and The Golden Trio is trying to move on. However, when a new enemy threatens the wizarding world, what will they do? Especially when their savior is Bellatrix Black: Voldemort's First Lieutenant, and Hermione's former lover.
1. Death Becomes Her

**Hello all! No, I haven't died, and I do promise to all who are wondering that my other story, A Collection of Shorts, will be updated soon. I broke my phone, which I had been using to post my chapters, and lost all of my works. I've recently gotten a new one, however, so the next (and I believe last, since I also lost all often prompts I had for it) chapter should be up soon.**

 **However, while I was away, I began to think about a new story for the Bellamione community. I had gotten a journal from my girlfriend's parents, and started researching everything I'd need to know about the Harry Potter universe. After about 50 (51, I believe, is the exact number) pages of research, I started on it, and I do believe it's rather interesting. The title is definitely subject to change, but I hadn't thought of a proper title for it, and the beginning of Fable II came to mind.**

 **And so, Our Story Begins...**

 **!**

Bellatrix Druella Black let her gaze wander, much like herself, into the void.

Nothing stared back.

She could not breathe, could not speak, could not _feel_ , save for her emotions.

She saw the faces of everyone she had hurt, playing endlessly in her mind.

Alice and Frank Longbottom, their minds fractured beyond repair.

Her own cousin, Sirius, his body pushed into The Veil, cut down by a simple stunner.

Ted Tonks, caught on the bad end of one of Bellatrix's rages.

Her own sister, Andromeda, her flesh and blood.

 _Hermione..._

Her own lover, heartbroken, knowing Bellatrix was right, they could not gallivant around while they hurt each others' loved ones in battle.

That did nothing to stop the pain.

She wondered, idly, if this was Hell. Souls doomed to forever wander through nothingness, every past transgression running through them in a cacophony of outraged anguish.

Or was this simply Purgatory, but a private Hell of her own?

Bellatrix found that both possibilities sounded equally unappealing.

If only she could reach the other side, to live again, to make up for the past. All talk of blood, of the morals she'd clutched to like a lifeline for so many decades, seemed to fade away in this place. Muggleborns or purebloods, it didn't matter.

They all ended up in the same place.

The former dark witch found that she lingered as long as she could by, what she assumed was, the opening of The Veil. She remembered seeing it, years ago, in The Department of Mysteries, but it looked much different from the inside. The blackness, a wasteland of nothing, sucked all light from the other side.

But close to The Veil, she found that it wasn't quite as dark as the rest of that wretched place.

She couldn't dwell on it too long, as no matter how hard she tried, she felt herself forced to float along, a never-ending stream of souls suffering all around her.

What she wouldn't give for something... _anything..._ to break up this maddening monotony.

Bellatrix couldn't remember any sort of judgement, so she could only assume (hope) this was Purgatory. Hell would be a paradise compared to this. Yet there was nothing she could do.

Bellatrix Druella Black was dead, and there was no way she would ever see the land of the living again.

 **!**

 **And that's that! Forgive the shortness of it; I wanted to whet your appetite a bit before going on. I warn you, the pace at the beginning is slow, but I for one think it's appropriate for what lies ahead. In order to truly get a grasp on what's in store, I feel like you lovelies should first understand what life, or death in this case, is like for those involved.**

 **I will have an upload schedule that I plan on following! Saturday evenings, at least American Saturday evenings. Hope to see you there.**

 **Thanks for reading, and I will see you next week!**


	2. A Pint Between Friends

**Hello again, all! I'm back with the second chapter in the (not so) long awaited saga! I don't have much to say, so I'll leave you all to it!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **!**

Hermione Jean Granger entered The Three Broomsticks, shaking the remnants of the thunderstorm raging outside off her cloak.

The bar was packed, and makes of all walks of life gathered to do anything from share a drink with a lover, to drowning their demons in a tall glass of firewhiskey. Three seats by the bar were just outside of the merriment, two of which were already occupied. She greeted their occupants as she sat in the empty chair, the bartender already making her regular pineapple juice and ginger ale.

Since the end of Voldemort, for good, she and the other two thirds of The Golden Trio met at this bar at least once a week, steadfastly refusing to allow their friendship to succumb to time. So far, Hermione had yet to miss this ritual, and didn't plan on starting anytime soon.

Harry was in the middle of telling a story about a particularly nasty wizard he'd brought in, and smiled his greeting to the brunette as she kissed her husband and took her seat at his side.

"Good to see you again, 'Mione," Harry said, pushing his familiar round-rimmed glasses back up onto his face, "I didn't know if you'd be able to make it. Ron says the ministry's been running you ragged lately."

She nodded as she took a sip of the provided drink.

"Yes, Shacklebolt seems to be under the impression that I still have the time-turner, and can therefore take on a pile of paperwork taller than I am." She relented.

Ron squeezed her arm comfortingly. "It's alright, love. You'll find a way. You always do."

She smiled back at him. They'd gotten married shortly after The Battle of Hogwarts, and she couldn't have been happier. Hermione had everything she could ever want: a high paying job in the ministry, a loving (if a little dense) husband, a nice flat close enough to both of their jobs, and fiercely loyal friends.

As she moved to cover Ron's hand with her own, her eyes caught on a familiar scar, one she usually covered with clothing or a glamour.

MUDBLOOD

Her thoughts flashed back to that night at Malfoy Manor, and for a moment, she felt like that same helpless young girl she'd been, tortured and forever marked by a woman who, a few days before, had professed her love.

The same feelings began to wash over her: betrayal, to be absolutely destroyed by a woman whom she believed would never do such a thing, mixed with anger, both at Bellatrix for carving such a horrible, derogatory word into her flesh, and at herself, for still holding hope that the woman who'd whisper sweetly into her ear as she drifted off to sleep was somewhere in the madwoman on top of her.

Hermione could still smell the woman, the scent of spiced evergreen mixed with something more, invading her senses and leaving her in a sort of blissful pain that only comes with being Bellatrix's lover.

Her breathing became erratic as she felt the weight of someone on her, suffocating her and whispering in a sickly sweet voice, one that was disgustingly playful, as she savagely engraved what was hers.

The hand on her arm squeezed just a little bit harder, and it was then that she realized she was hyperventilating.

Her two friends looked at her worriedly, and she tried to follow the advice her therapist gave her. She focused on slowing her breathing and naming the sights and smells around her.

Ron and Harry understood, of course. One does not go through a war without scars, be them mental or physical. In the nearly five years since The Second Wizarding War, the trio had each helped one another through therapy sessions and midnight breakdowns alike.

It did not make them weak. Simply human.

"Sorry." She spoke after a moment, her voice sounding thin and small.

Hermione cleared her throat and tried again, this time managing to sound a little stronger.

"Sorry about that. Spaced out a bit. What were you saying?"

Ron and Harry took the hint, thankfully, and Harry started his tale once more, describing exactly where the man he'd taken in had managed to hide a book on his person.

The bright witch forced herself to focus on the present. No point in dwelling on the past, especially if the past is, quite literally, dead.

 **!**

Ron and Hermione parted from Harry with a friendly hug, and a promise to drop by that weekend to catch up with Ginny. The couple walked to the door, and Hermione apparated them back to their flat.

Opening the door with a wave of her wand, Hermione allowed herself to take in the room, as if to prove that it was real, that they had, in fact, moved on from the war.

It was a bit of an organized mess, with a few prototypes from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes scattered on any available surface. Hermione had to take special care not to bump into any of them, as they sometimes made a hellacious screeching when hit (while Lakers breathed fire, but after Ron managed to burn Hermione's eyebrows off, fire was quickly banned). They had a decently sized television in the living room, as well as a few muggle appliances Hermione had bought and insisted on teaching Ron how to use. Besides that, photos were scattered about the home, and their friends' smiling faces waved at the two as they made their way to the bedroom.

Crookshanks barely acknowledged them from his seat on the bed as Ron began to change into pajamas. Hermione went into the washroom to do her nightly routine. She took off the light layer of makeup she'd worn to work by hand, though her husband never understood why she'd insisted on doing so.

The witch looked at herself in the mirror at that thought, pausing in the middle of wiping her lipstick off.

Husband.

She and Ron married shortly after the Wizarding War, as they believed they'd spent seven years beating around the bush. Hermione had wondered often at the beginning of their marriage, just what Ron would have to say about her being with Bellatrix. She'd kept it a secret, and for good reason. The woman was a monster, and Hermione would've been as crazy as her if she thought any of her friends would take the news easily.

They didn't see Bellatrix Black, a woman who'd never really been shown mercy or kindness, a woman escaping the prison that was pureblood lifestyle, and instead ensnared in a war over that very thing.

They didn't see Bella, the woman who, with a few words, could leave Hermione either soaring above the stars or flustered beyond belief.

They saw Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman whose evil deeds were told by the world as if she were a real life bogeyman.

They saw The Dark Lord's First Lieutenant, who would burn down a nursery if it were filled with muggle children.

Hermione broke the staring contest she'd inadvertently been having with her reflection, and instead splashed some water onto her face. She'd accepted long ago that the Bellatrix she thought she knew had never existed, instead just a façade the older witch had used to try and get information out of her.

A small voice in the back of the brunette's mind told her that wasn't true, that they'd had an unspoken agreement not to discuss their sides' plans when their affair had started.

That voice was quickly dismissed as Hermione brushed her teeth and wandered back into the bedroom. Crookshanks gave her a dirty look from the floor as Ron got up to brush his teeth. Hermione settled into the bed and pulled the covers up to her shoulders, facing the side Ron would occupy in a few moments.

Hermione closed her eyes and took in the smell lingering from the ginger's pillow, men's shampoo mixed with a chocolate-y smell, with a hint of explosive powder from the joke shop. She didn't allow her eyes to open again until she felt the bed dip.

"Are you alright, love?" He asked as he settled in, mirroring her position and giving her a comforting look, "You looked like you were a thousand miles away at the pub."

She nodded, hoping she looked as worn out as she felt.

"I'm okay. Just a long day at the office."

She leaned in and kissed him softly. The kiss deepened as Hermione let herself get lost in the feeling of his firm, slightly chapped lips. Ron pulled her closer and fumbled around for his wand, turning the lights off magically when he found it.

That night, she dreamt of forbidden kisses and pain.

 **!**

 **Sorry it took so long! Some personal things happened last night and ya girl needed a drink. But I can make it up to you all, if you want, by updating this again on Wednesday. Let me know, and tell me what you thought of this one!**


	3. A Disturbance in the Force

**Hello, all! Apologies are in order; I was in such a rush last week to get my last chapter out, I forgot to do the most basic and important of things: Proofreading. Thankfully, xoxo pointed out that I'd misspelled Malfoy Manor, and I've fixed that. I know most of you don't mind, but it'll bother me if I leave it, so I've updated the chapter. Thank you xoxo!**

 **OH! Also, I have a Tumblr now. I made it for my stories, so if you wanna follow that, it's gods-are-mortals. I have one post. I've been meaning to tell all of you, but I completely forgot. I apologize!**

 **Anyways, this is a few hours late, as I'm visiting my girlfriend's family and I don't really have much time to myself, so I apologize.**

 **Now that I'm done saying "I apologize" over and over again, let's get to what you're really here for.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **!**

It was midnight at Gringotts, and the massive bank had closed for the night. The human workers had left hours ago, most likely already tucked in bed, dreaming of bigger and better things.

For the goblins, however, work had just begun.

Vault 712 had always been used as a lounge for the goblins, especially those who had worked long hours in the nearby mines.

Tonight, however, things were different. A certain feeling lingered in the air that day, one that the humans couldn't quite put a name to.

Goblins trickled in to the massive empty vault, and upon entering, the newcomers got swept away in the throng of angry and outraged voices.

The room itself was in a state of disarray. Maps of Wizarding England were spell-o-taped haphazardly on the wall, supplies were stacked in huge crates in dangerous sizes wherever there was room, and dozens of tiny chairs were arranged in a circle, all pointed towards a makeshift stage. Magical torches cast the room in a sinister light, and every occupant felt the tension rising.

A young goblin, no older than 25, stood onstage, doing his best to look authoritative. He resisted the urge to fiddle with the earring in his left ear. Instead, his hands balled into fists on either side of his small body, and he puffed out his chest.

"For too long, we have suffered under the hands of cruel and unforgiving masters!" He roared, and the response was instantaneous. The rumbling of outraged cries grew louder.

"For too long, we have been denied our very history!" The crowd looked more like an angry hoard, as some began to jump to their feet, their bodies quaking.

"For too long, we have allowed the humans to view us as a pestilence to be wiped out." The young goblin became quieter, though the crowd didn't notice. He'd experienced firsthand how cold their slavers could be.

The young goblin took a breath. He needed to get a hold of his emotions, just as the king before him had taught him.

"Brethren, let us break the seal."

Silence.

Every goblin in the room looked back at him, stunned.

The seal hadn't been broken in centuries, and had ended in bloodshed when it last was.

But, now that the first born was out of the way, there was nothing keeping the goblins from their power.

The question going through everyone's mind at that point was the same.

 _Is it worth it?_

"Wait."

The silence was broken by the voice of a wise old goblin in the back of the vault.

The crowd parted, and he walked forward slowly, his gnarled cane tapping rhythmically against the floor.

The goblin had faint wisps of white hair, and walked hunched over, yet it was clear that everyone respected the figure, much to the younger goblin's displeasure.

Goblin tradition states that the king is the best metalsmith, yet that does not mean the respect garnered from years of leadership simply transfers.

"Why so eager to die?" 'the older goblin asked the youngling as he approached the stage. His eyes were comically large behind his glasses, yet the somber expression he wore wasn't diminished from the effect.

"Have we forgotten our history, King Arg the Unclean? Why are we so eager to see unnecessary death?"

"Because the humans have gotten away with too much, for too long!" Arg cried, but he could see his words didn't have the same effect as they did a moment ago. He almost sounded like a petulant child, instead of the king he was. "They promised our sword was to be returned after their war, yet it sits behind glass in a museum, commemorating that very war, which we didn't even fight in!"

He went on, "Their ministry forces us to allow their spies into Gringotts, a place my people either work in or pay heavy fines to live near, and they make laws pertaining to us, with no representation or meetings with any of us!"

At the elder's silence, he continued. "They give us no right to a wand, yet force us to run their economy for them! Our house-elf cousins are abused and _murdered_ by these monsters, all for their sick pleasures! We are slaves to them, and they refuse to give us freedom."

The elder took a breath and sighed. The room was quiet, and no one dared to speak. They all awaited what the elder might say.

"Have we tried asking?" He pushed his glasses up his large nose.

Arg went red in the face. "Asking? You want us to simply ask these monsters, after all they've done to us?" His teeth clenched, and his fists shook at his sides.

The elder shrugged. "They've already been through a terrible war over equality within their own race. They understand now what they did not when our people tried before to be free. Perhaps if we were to simply ask, they would be willing to accommodate."

"So you would rather stoop to the level of our aggressors then, Kilk?" Arg challenged, looking down his nose at the elder, "You would rather our people grovel at their feet, and compromise the values we've upheld for centuries?"

A quiet murmur raced throughout the crowd, and Kilk waited patiently for it to end. He knew why the king was upset. The young goblin had recently come to power over Kilk, yet the community still looked to the elder for guidance. He had yet to learn that in order to gain respect, one had to earn it instead of commanding it.

"You are a descendent of Urg the Foul, Arg," He said once the crown had gone silent once more, "I understand that this rebellion runs through your blood. But what have we gained from these rebellions, besides more bodies to add to our cemeteries?"

"I do not ask you to compromise your pride. I do not ask this of anyone in the room. I simply ask that we attempt to do this the way humans do things. For once, let us try diplomacy."

Arg was about to protest, to fight the elder, but paused. He looked out into the crowd, really looked, and saw a number of things.

He saw mothers fearfully clutching their babies, unsure as to what the outcome of this meaning meant for the future.

He saw fathers waiting in dreadful anticipation for him to announce he'd be gathering an army, and that meant ripping them away from their families.

He saw eager young boys, no older than he, who had never known war and would forever be scarred from it.

He saw children, who didn't know what was going on, and could only sense the atmosphere of the room.

They all looked back at him.

This wasn't like before. Before, they were war machines.

Now, they were simply trying to live.

"You are right, Kilk. Perhaps the humans have changed. Perhaps all that is needed is to ask." He admitted, and the whole vault seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

Kilk nodded, knowing that Arg would do what was best for his people in the end.

"As king, I will go to their ministry tomorrow, and try to get an audience with their liaisons. Hopefully it will all go according to plan."

With a wave of his hand, the vault doors opened, and he dismissed his people. They'd been through enough for today.

The goblins slowly trickled out, until it was just Arg and Kilk left. The elder walked forward and put his hand on the king's shoulder.

"You made a wise decision today, son." Kilk said, and Arg scoffed his response.

"Really, Arg. Through anger, it is hard to see what the best path is. The humans killed your mother, and that still hurts you to this day. I can see it. It is what drives you to free your people. But it also enrages you. However, even through this, you still see reason."

Arg looked up at the elder, and he went on. "You will make mistakes, of course, but I believe you will make a fine king."

Kilk smiled at his son, and wrapped his arm around him. They began to walk towards the exit.

"There is one Hermione Granger at the ministry. She is a decorated war veteran, who also advocates for house-elf rights. Perhaps if she were to help, the humans could be swayed."

The elder nodded. "A fine idea, my boy. Your mother would've been proud."

Arg stopped at this, and he met his father's gaze once more. "You really think so?"

Kilk placed his hands once more on his son's shoulders, and simply replied, "I know so."

The younger goblin's ears perked up, and for a moment, Kilk saw the young whelp he'd taught to walk, to talk, looking back at him. "Her son, all grown up and still the sweet young thing shed raised him to be, who cares about his subjects? She would be over the moon."

Arg beamed at this, and started to walk again.

As the father and son exited the vault, the massive doors closed behind them, and the future didn't look so bleak. Perhaps they could have a peaceful freedom after all.

 **!**

 **Hi, my name is Superzombiedestroyer123, and I love commas, in case you can't tell.**

 **Other than that, I'm not quite sure how I like this chapter. Let me know what you think!**

 **I know it doesn't have any of the HP characters in it, but this, along with a few more chapters scattered throughout, will be important for context in future chapters, so bear with me please!**

 **Stay beautiful, and I'll see you all in the next chapter!**


	4. An Attempt Was Made

**Hey all! It's me again. I had a quick question for all who read the notes here: There are two ways to explain what happened between Bellatrix and Hermione before all of this. I can either write a prequel, or I can write it into a scene. Fair warning, I can't write any further than I already have done until I get an answer.**

 **That is all.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **!**

The next day, a dishevelled-looking Hermione entered The Ministry of Magic and headed straight through The Atrium to the elevators. Working in the ministry for nearly half a decade helped her school the look of disgust that threatened to wash over her features at the ridiculous fountain set up in the lobby.

The fountain, depicting a house-elf, a centaur, and a goblin, with the trio gazing at a witch and wizard in adoration.

She allowed a scoff to pass through her defences before she boarded the elevator. The brunette thought it ridiculous that the fountain was there in the first place, as centaurs wanted nothing to do with the wizarding world, and goblins and house-elves were little more than slaves.

Kingsley had yet to respond to her letters, however, so Hermione punched in Level 4 and pushed the daily thought out of her mind. She walked down the corridor of The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and walked into her office.

It was a relatively decent sized office, with a bookshelf occupying one side, and a window on the other. Today, it was charmed to show a sunny morning, with birds chirping outside, most likely to combat the pounding rain in the streets above.

Besides that, a polished mahogany desk, neatly organized, sat facing the door. A leather chair was behind it, and a fireplace for floo calls behind that. In front of the desk were two smaller leather chairs, for guests.

Hermione hung her cloak on the rack by the door, and dropped her bag beside her as she sat down. She'd just taken her quill out to start on the mountains of paperwork piled on top of her desk, when the sound of an impatient throat clearing interrupted the silence.

Looking around, Hermione saw no one, until she looked down between the two guest chairs. There, an irritated young goblin stood by the chairs, his arms crossed in front of him. He had a shock of brown hair atop his head, and a golden earring in his left ear. The goblin's face was contorted into a scowl, and his suit-clad arms were crossed in front of him.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, pushing the papers out of the way and placing her quill in its holder, "My apologies. I wasn't expecting anyone so early."

"Early?" he scoffed, "I've been waiting in this accursed office for hours! Lazy humans, all of you."

The woman looked at the small clock on her desk. Eight o' clock.

"How did you get in here? The door only allows in people after it picks up my magical signature."

The goblin waved her off and cover into a seat. "Nevermind that. I have important business to discuss, and I believe you to be the most competent in maters such as this."

Hermione pushed the irritation that threatened to spill out into her words away, and pulled out a clean roll of parchment.

"Alright, I'd be happy to help, sir, but might I ask why you're coming to me, and not the goblin liaison?"

"And risk having this mishandled or swept under the rug by that insufferable twit? He-" The young goblin cut himself off.

He took a breath, but didn't look much calmer. "The goblin liaison is nothing more than a prized pig .He's chosen so your superiors can give themselves a pat on the back, and pretend like they care. The plights of my people never make it farther than his desk. This particular case is highly sensitive, and I do not want this to be misconstrued."

Hermione nodded, and readied her quill. "Alright then. Let's get started. May I ask your name and your grievance?"

The goblin straightened up in his chair.

"My name is not important. What's important, is the horrible quality in which my people are treated."

This was going to be a long day.

 **!**

Three hours later, after a tense talk with the young goblin, Hermione had a basis for her case. She'd be lying if she said the goblins didn't have a reason to be as irate as they were. The war hero had to admit it was unfair as to how they were treated. She'd lobbied for Gryffindor's sword to be returned to them after the war, and Kingsley had agreed. The rest of the Wizengamot, however, did not. So it became another dusty relic in a museum.

On top of that, it was an insult that they, along with their house-elf cousins, were not allowed a wand. Furthermore, the goblins were expected to run the wizarding economy, for no benefits other than the threat of harsh punishment should they refuse.

She thought back to the goblin's demeanour. His anger was barely concealed, and she could only assume that his people felt the same way. This would be a tricky ordeal to navigate, but the witch would give it her all.

Hermione quickly rescheduled her appointments for that day, and locked her door to keep the rest of her coworkers from barging in.

With a wave of her wand, the bright young woman called for a few books from the bookshelf to stack themselves neatly onto her desk. The resulting pile was a few feet tall, but Hermione would not go into this half-cocked.

From what the goblin had said, his people wanted their freedom. They wanted to be allowed wands, which they would make themselves. They wanted to be properly compensated for the long hours their people put in to Gringotts, and they wanted the ministry workers that came in to monitor them to be put away.

Hermione completely understood, and admired it, in a way. She worked on her case for the rest of the day, until the timer on her clock signaled it was time to go home. She quickly owled Kingsley and grabbed her belongings.

A Wizengamot session needed to be called. This was too big of an issue to wait.

Outside, the storm raged on.

 **!**

 **Another chapter down! The storm's a metaphor, if you haven't been assaulted by the symbolism enough to know. I thought it kind of appropriate, if a little (a lot) cliche.**

 **I hope you enjoyed! I don't get many reviews on this, but I do love when I get them! Leave me a review (I feed on them and ya girl is HUNGRY), and I'll see you all in the next chapter!**


	5. But First, we eat

**Hello all! Sorry for the late update. My older brother's finally tying the knot, and we've been spending the past couple of days running around doing some last minute decorating.**

 **If ya haven't yet, check out my tumblr, gods-are-mortals! It's quite a feat, considering I tried so hard to stay away from tumblr when I was younger. I'm thinking about posting some exclusive one shots there, so definitely check it out if you like Bellamione (or you're also just really gay).**

 **I'll shut up now and get to the chapter.**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

 **!**

The weekend rolled around quickly, and all too soon Hermione and Ron found themselves outside of Harry and Ginny's cottage. It had a small lake behind it, more of a pond, filled with magical creatures yet surprisingly calm. The property resided in the middle of the woods, however, so "surprisingly calm" pretty much described the whole atmosphere.

Next to the pond, the house stood small and plain, but very well-loved.

Inside was a familial scene. Nearly every inch of available wall space was covered with pictures of the couple's various adventures, sometimes with friends, but mostly just the two of them.

The house was cluttered with quidditch gear, since Ginny never had time to do anything more than drop in for a quick bite and to switch her clothes out during the season.

Harry's presence was a little more known, since his job as an auror wasn't quite as busy. Muggle books were placed neatly on bookshelves, said next to the walls, and they shared space with a few awards Harry had received for his work. Hand knit blankets he'd made (Mrs. Weasley had insisted Harry learn to knit after Ginny steadfastly refused, and Harry had a hard time saying no to the woman) covered the couch and loveseats they had in the living room.

Hermione and Ron walked into the familiar kitchen/dining room, which had a window overlooking the lake. Ginny and Harry were by the stove, laughing at something one of them said while they both tended to lunch. Their eyes caught the other couple walking in, and they moved to the loving room to chat.

"Hermione! It's been too long." Ginny said, scolding the other witch gently as she pulled her in for a hug.

"It has, Gin. The ministry's been hounding me, and if what Harry says is true, the Harpies have, as well?" She returned the hug and looked at the redhead, who nodded.

"Our new coach insists on starting practices at _dawn,"_ Ginny lamented, "The sun should be the _only_ thing awake at dawn."

Hermione had to laugh at that. Ginny sounded so much like her brother sometimes.

"And you!" Green eyes flashed to said brother, and she swatted him playfully on the arm, "I know Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is finally in order, Ronald Weasley, why haven't you come to see me?"

Ron rubbed the spot where he'd been hit. "Well, Hermione gets a hug and I get beaten, I'd say your answer's right there!"

He received another swat before Ginny was satisfied, and hugged him as well.

She stepped back, and Harry but an arm around her waist. He kissed the top of her head out of habit, and Hermione was struck by their happiness. She wasn't sure why, but when she was around them, it almost bothered her just how in love they were. They'd do anything for each other.

Case and point, the apron Harry wore over his t-shirt and sweatpants.

"What is that?" Hermione bit her lip to keep her laughter at bay.

The apron was bright pink, and had lacy frills along the side of it. 'Kiss the Cook!' was printed in bold, red letters on the front, and few lip prints covered the garment.

With herculean effort, Hermione kept her composure. Ron was a different story, however, and his laughter bubbled out of his chest easily.

"It's my cooking apron, thank you very much." Harry said, straightening himself up and smoothing the apron out.

"It was a gift from Gin, after I covered myself in flour for the third time." He admitted sheepishly.

Ron had calmed down by then, and dramatically wiped a fake tear from his eye. "Mate, I think my sister's gone and domesticated you."

"There is nothing wrong with a man who wears pink!" The bespectacled man defended, mirth in his eyes.

"I think you look ravishing, darling." Ginny smiled up at him, and leaned in to kiss him gently.

It sobered Hermione quickly, and she wondered, to herself, if Ron would wear an apron like that for her.

Then she wondered why an apron had to have some sort of deep symbolism to her, and decided to drop the matter.

It helped that the smell of something burning suddenly filled the air, and Harry's face melted to one of horror.

"The soup!"

 **!**

Lunch had, effectively, been burned while the two couples weren't watching. Luckily there was more than enough in the fridge to whip up some sandwiches, so the four sat at the table catching up.

"So Ginny, how's the Harpies?" Hermione asked over a bite of her sandwich. She caught the redhead in the middle of a bite of her own, and waited for her to finish.

"Well, like I said, we have a monster of a coach." Ginny groaned, and Harry rubbed her back gently upon hearing her tone. He and Ron had branched off to talk about the latest in the joke shop and how some criminals had been found with Ron's wares.

"She wants us to do our best, but she's such a nightmare! We have to sleep at some point, you know."

Hermione nodded. She knew Ginny, like Ron, didn't want a response sometimes, merely someone to vent to.

Eventually, Harry noticed her silence.

"What about you? Anything exciting at the department?" Harry asked.

Hermione thought back to the young goblin that had seen her at the office. It was a high profile case, one that may blow up if it got out.

"Well, one case. It's, ah, highly sensitive." She put her sandwich down and took a sip of her water.

The other three at the table quieted at that, and Harry leaned in, elbows on the table.

"What sort of highly sensitive case?" He quirked a brow.

She was silent for a beat. The brunette worried her lip a moment, weighing what she could say.

"What I tell you does not leave this table." Hermione warned, looking at her three companions. They nodded their agreement, so she went on.

"I was visited by a young goblin the other day. They're petitioning the Wizengamot for equal rights, and the return of their history." She let that sink in, leaning back in her chair.

Harry was the first to speak. "About bloody time, I should say. It wasn't right to keep the sword of Gryffindor." He straightened up in his chair.

Hermione nodded. "They've been treated like slaves for centuries, and we just had a war on treating all mages equally. I'm sure now is different, and I hope they see it too. I've called for a session this Monday."

"Blimey, 'Mione. You've got that much power?" Ron asked .

"Being a war hero has its perks. Well, that and being good at my job. But if I can get the Wizengamot to see reason, perhaps I can dismantle the oppressive hold wizardkind has on house-elves as well. They'd finally be free."

Ron beamed at her. "I'm happy for you, darling." He stated simply, and kissed her cheek.

She had to force herself not to recoil when he did. Her cheek was now wet with his saliva, and crumbs from his sandwich coated her skin uncomfortably. Hermione smiled her thanks, but didn't respond.

It had been like this for the past two years. Ron had come leaps and bounds further than his "teaspoon" days, and cared about what she did. Yet, the more he tried, the more it was never enough. Even now, she wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, tell him, "Oh, you're happy for me? Do you understand just how big this is?"

The bright witch thought back to her recurring musings. Harry and Ginny were both focused on something Ron was saying by now, yet Hermione could tell that they had their hands on each others' thigh. The gesture wasn't sexual, merely a way for the couple to let each other know they were there. They were always connected.

She looked at how she and Ron sat. Ron had his elbows on the table, and leaned forward with his ever present smile on his face. Hermione's hands rested firmly in her lap, and there was a noticeable gap between her and her husband.

Perhaps she wasn't in love with him.

The brunette immediately banished all thoughts of that kind from her mind. This was Ron, the man who had been there for her the most after the war. The man who held her together as she tried to fall apart, never telling him why. She would not entertain the thought that she didn't love him with only touches and passing words as evidence.

Hermione sat up and placed her hand over his on the table. He paused in his ramblings briefly, and flashed her a smile. Ron squeezed her hand comfortingly, and went on.

For once, Hermione told herself, she didn't need to think things through.

She loved her husband, plain and simple.

 **!**

 **Well, here ya have it! I'm pretty happy with this chapter, to be honest. Its a parallel between a relationship based on love, and one of convenience. I could talk about it for a while, but I will leave it at this: Harry Potter is comfortable with his masculinity, and that's my favorite thing in the world.**

 **Like it? Lemme know what you think!**

 **See ya later pals!**


	6. The Session Unfolds

**Hey all! Sorry about being late! My brother got married a few days ago, and the wedding's been crazy to deal with, to say the least. But hey, ya girl got to marry him off (I'm an ordained minister Pls book me for ur weddings),so that was cool.**

 **Anywho, not much to say here, to be honest. I still have a tumblr. Still not sure how to use tumblr. Still writing shitty fanfiction.**

 **We're here now.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **!**

Hermione stood in front of the most powerful witches and wizards in Great Britain's Wizarding World.

The Wizengamot.

Above her, said witches and wizards looked down on her, their faces barely visible in the chamber. They might as well have been giants.

 _Or trolls,_ Hermione thought to herself, remembering the looming frame of the beast she'd faced her first year. She forced herself to summon her Gryffindor bravery, and jutted her chin out defiantly. The muggleborn, ironically, looked much like a pureblood, proud and tall in the face of the unknown.

"Miss Granger." Kingsley spoke from the center seat, his voice echoing throughout the room. He served as the Supreme Mugwump until the ministry could appoint another.

"You have called for an emergency session of the Wizengamot to be held today. What is your reason?"

Suddenly the faces felt accusatory. Suddenly she felt as if she were on trial. Suddenly her courage threatened to leave her.

She wrangled herself hack in and looked up at him. "Goblins, for far too long, have been treated as second-class citizens at best," she started, regarding each mage for a few seconds before her eyes bounced to the next, "They have no right to a wand, no rights to own property within the wizarding community, they are forced to work at Gringotts or face harsh punishment, we have ministry workers watching their every move, and we haven't even returned an integral part of their history to them."

She'd noticed she'd began to pace, and slowed her walk to a more casual gait. Hermione hoped to try to emulate the calm, collected demeanor of a lawyer on the muggle TV shows that played.

"Even now, I plead this case on behalf of a goblin, because he is not allowed inside these chambers. Surely, all of you can see how we are mistreating our magical brethren."

The Wizengamot seemed to be digesting this information, and looked to accept it, until Kingsley called out once more .

"Thank you, Miss Granger. Opposition?"

Hermione scowled surreptitiously at the other occupant on her level of the chambers.

"Reginald Bernstein, at your service." The plump, red-faced older wizard bowed low .He wore powder blue formal robes, and a greying mustache was the only hair on his head.

The man was as pompous as his accent, and he regarded Hermione with a look one would give to muck on their shoe. They shared a department together, and the man criticized or contradicted everything the young witch did. He took the "control" in the department's title a bit too seriously.

"The notion that we should allow goblins these rights are utterly preposterous, ladies and gentlemen," he began, spittle flying from his mouth, "They've done nothing to earn it. They did not fight in the Second Wizarding War, and therefore have no reason for them. Furthermore, the artifacts humans have rightfully paid for are property of the ministry, and while Mr. Potter might have made a promise to get himself out of a bad situation, the ministry does not, and should not, oblige by such a promise."

He gave Hermione a condescending sneer as he went on, "The goblins should be grateful that we allow them to do what they are best at: metalsmithing and finances. We need ministry workers watching them do so now more than ever, as the goblins almost defected to the dark side during said war .They can't be trusted if left alone, which is precisely why I vote to add more security to Gringotts."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "These are assumptions based on prejudice, and precisely the reason going are still being mistreated!"

"Miss Granger, I must warn you not to speak out of turn." Kingsley boomed, stopping her just as she began.

She deflated a bit. "Apologies, sir."

Hermione took a breath to calm herself. "Ladies and gentlemen, might I remind you of the last three goblin rebellions. The first, occurring in 1612, started because goblins weren't represented on the Wizengamot, who makes laws regarding their people. We still have no goblin representation, and yet, we chose to enslave them as a result .The other two were for similar reasons. The last rebellion occurred in 1790, over two hundred years ago. Since then, we've had over two hundred years of peace with them. It is time to stop policing a race that doesn't have anyone alive who even remembers the wars. _Furthermore,_ "

She gave Bernstein a pointed look. "Goblin tradition states that the owner of an item is the being who made it, and the buyer is merely renting it. They are goblin artifacts, and it is only fair that they be returned. In regards to the Second Wizarding War, Voldemort killed an entire family of goblins, so they would be the last race that would turn to the dark. Lastly, if we as a race allow our forefathers' transgressions to remain unmended, then we are no better than a common animal. Goblins should be _slaves no more._ " She wrapped up her argument with a final rallying statement, and stepped back.

If looks could kill, then the glare Bernstein fixed Hermione with would be far deadlier than the killing curse.

She took a sip of the water sitting on her desk.

This was going to be a long session.

 **!**

Hermione exited the chamber, bag in hand, only to almost step on the goblin she was fighting for. She didn't realize he's been waiting outside for her.

"You've been in there for hours!" He complained, "What did they say?"

"Sir, I-" She began, but a voice behind her cut her off.

"Ms. Granger!" Reginald's voice cut through the air, and the witch rolled her eyes with a sigh.

The man clapped her on the back, practically glowing. "That was truly rich, madame. Thinking the dirty little vermin deserved rights. It's a shame the Wizengamot didn't pass the notion to add security, but a win is a win. Though, if you ask me, they should be in the servitude of deserving witches and wizards, along with their cousins."

The goblin was shaking by this point, his teeth grinding together as if the man's bones were in between them.

His low growl caught Reginald's attention ."Oh, hello there, little beast. Nice try, but you're better off where you are. Too good for you, if you ask me."

He kneeled down when he didn't get a response.

"Isn't that right?" He asked slowly, as if talking to a simpleton.

"I suppose not all of them know how to speak English. Do you even understand what I'm saying? Of course not, stupid little-"

A glob of the goblin's spit landed square in his face, and he replied, landing on his arse.

"Agh! Bloody scum!" He scrambled to his feet and pulled his wand out, only for Hermione to step between them.

She conjured a handkerchief and tossed it to him.

"Isn't there another poor creature somewhere for you to torment?" she asked, not breaking eye contact.

He met her gaze for a moment, seething, before realizing she wouldn't back down.

Reginald wiped the spit from his face, then glowered down at the goblin, who stated defiantly back.

"Bloody vermin, all of them. 'Slaves no more'. Hah. Rich, really. The best way for them to be 'slaves no more' is to have all of them out to death."

And with that, he turned on his heel, probably to a dark corner to lick his wounds, if Hermione had to guess.

She turned around to find the goblin glaring at the man's back, his body tense, as if an invisible rope were the only thing keeping him from launching himself at the man and tearing his eyes out.

"I'm sorry. I tried my best, but it's not going to happen right now. Give me time to change their minds, maybe work something out-"

"Save it!" The goblin's voice boomed in the empty hallway, a strange sound from such a small body, "It was foolish to think humans have changed. Mark my words, my people deserve, and will receive, their freedom!"

He apparated out, how his magic got passed the wards Hermione wasn't sure.

One thing she was sure of, however, was the dread settling in the pit of her stomach.

 **!**

 **And there we have it! Another chapter down. From here on, things are gonna get a bit more intense. Now you can kind of see where we're headed with this. What I love about this story is that it's almost like The Butterfly Effect, or just a series of events that could happen if something else did.**

 **Let me know what you think, and I'll see ya next chapter!**


	7. The Storm Rages on

**Hello again, everyone! Everyone in my house is going insane, but the bright side is that I finally have computer! My girlfriend's parents bought one for me, which is also INSANE, but awesome.**

 **Anywho, I'm thinking about uploading twice a week. I've written a little more than half of this story, and it's got 20 chapters so far. I feel that it'll take forever to get through it if I upload once a week, but if you all are cool with it, then I'll continue this schedule.**

 **Now that I'm done rambling, onto the story!**

 **!**

Back at vault 712, far beneath the streets of Diagon Alley, small fists were raised as one. Some held small aerosol cans, while others remained empty. The room was silent; all eyes were trained on their fearless leader.

"Brothers and sisters," Arg began, an aerosol can in his hand, "I tried diplomacy, for our peoples' sake. I tried to talk to the humans, to get them to see reason."

"And what did I get?" He asked rhetorically, his head shaking side to side in disbelief, "I was denied, my people insulted. The humans think us lesser beings, incapable of forming coherent thoughts. They don't see the proud, prosperous kind we used to be. _They_ made us slaves, our very craft used to keep us subordinate."

"But no longer will we stand idly by while these creatures commit atrocious act after atrocious act. No longer will we be beaten, abused, reprimanded by our lessers. We will be _slaves no longer_!"

The crowd roared, and the hands holding the cans began to shake them, the small ball inside rattling around and stirring up the paint that dwell within.

"Go forth, my people. Start small, divert their attention from us as we prepare for war. Soon, we will show them we truly mean to be free."

The other goblins holding cans apparated away, and Arg followed suit.

The goblin king reappeared in Diagon Alley, in front of a store that was familiar to nearly every wizard in Great Britain.

Ollivander's Wand Shop.

He sneered at the sign, which seemed to mock him as much as the humans that shopped there. The anger he felt fueled his magic, blossomed inside his chest, and he could feel the seal within him start to crack.

So, his people felt the same righteous indignation as he. Good to know.

There was no time for it now, but the proper moment to unleash the full potential of goblin magic would be soon.  
Tonight was the night for something much simpler.

Vandalism.

The magic he possessed allowed Arg to slip in undetected through the wards guarding the shop, and he stole away easily into the dark store.

Wands lined the shelves in front of him, and the king fought the urge to find one for himself. Countless times he had seen young mages enter Gringotts, their eyes alight with excitement as they had just found the wand they'd have for the rest of their lives. It would be so easy to just unbox a few of them, see if he could make a spark…

Arg cursed himself for his selfish jealousy, and instead channeled it into his barely contained anger. Wands represented everything goblins hated about humans, who used them to flaunt their 'superiority', and to hurt the beings they deemed as lesser. A wand, to a human, was more akin to a crown than a tool, with anything seen as unworthy forced to be their sweet, submissive subjects.

No, the wand shop had to go. Perhaps later Arg could pay the wandmaker a visit.

The king raised his hands high above his head, palms facing the ceiling, and began to chant lowly in Gobbledegook. The grunts and low growls coming out of his mouth seemed to charge the air around him, and though there was no sign of changes yet, the room was full of devious potential.

The tension was released, like a balloon pop, onto the shelves around the store. Anything not bolted down began shaking violently, a few glass containers even fell off the shelves and shattered in a cacophony of enraged glee. The small goblin in the center of the room couldn't be heard over the sounds of the madness, yet that did not stop him. He merely closed his eyes and steadied his hands.

Suddenly, the room fell calm once more, and the only sounds were the hammering of the rain against the wand shop's windows.

Arg lowered his hands, his eyes comically wide as they searched around the room for any sign of his spell working.

The wands stared back, askew from their assigned spots, but otherwise unharmed. They seemed to mock him, to tell the goblin king that he and his people weren't even strong enough to defeat a mageless wand, that they were filth, just like the man had sa-

A snap.

Another snap.

And then another.

Over and over again, wands all around the room snapped violently in half, some shredding the boxes they'd managed to stay in with the force. Arg watched, his anger fading to delight as he listened to the sound. Despite the storm outside, the cracking of twigs made the shop sound like a merry little fire burned inside.

A fire…

Arg wasn't entirely sure whether the humans could fix a broken wand, but he would be sure to be thorough.

He had a job to do, after all, to destroy the wands and send a message. The king willed each and every splinter of wood from the shelves and into a pile on the floor. The wands, some of which were still clinging desperately to their other half by the core, tumbled morosely from their perches.

He picked up one of the halves of a broken wand, the unicorn hair core sticking out like a flag of surrender, and muttered under his breath. At the end of his sentence, he let out a strong sigh, and the shard caught fire easily.

He dropped it onto the pile, which stubbornly refused to light. Instead, it smoked for a few seconds, as if the magic within was trying desperately to stop him from exacting his revenge.

Wands were still made of wood, however, and a beautiful fire roared in front of him within moments. He grinned as he admired his handiwork. There was no going back now, but Arg found that he didn't want to.

The goblin apparated back outside, ready for phase two of the plan. As the rain battered his small form, he readied the muggle can he'd brought with him. The king and a few of his soldiers had stolen them from some muggle youths who were vandalizing a wall near the entrance of Diagon Alley. Apparently, if one pressed down on the top, the can would produce muggle paint in a spray form. His people had enchanted the paint to be impossible to remove from whatever surface it had stuck to, so it would be impossible to miss.

He hoped, with this muggle paint that sprayed, he could throw off the ministry until his people were ready to break the seal. Things were fragile at the moment, but soon it would be time, and soon nothing and no one in the wizarding world would be able to stop them.

Arg climbed up the side of the store, a feat considering the storm had started to pick up. He slipped a few times, and was almost blown away once, but years of working in the mines and in the vast canyons and fissures under Gringotts had hones his climbing abilities, and he was able to recover. The king got into position, and began to spray.

The paint was a blood red color that shone mercilessly as soon as it hit the sign of the wand shop. The goblin slowly made his way along the sign, taking great care not to mess up the words. He was thankful the paint dried on impact, or the rain would've ruined the plan, and his people deserved perfection.

When he finished up, Arg hoped down from the sign and faced the front of the store once more, admiring his masterpiece.

The rain pounded on outside, though the paint was unaffected. The red letters cut through the night like a bloody knife, with the fire raging on the inside giving the scene a hellish glow.

SLAVES NO MORE

His people would be free. Even if their new world was built on the bodies of their captors.

 **!**

 **And that is one more chapter! I'm going to be honest, I started this a couple months ago, and completely stopped. College started back up, and I lost my scholarship this semester, and if I don't get it back then I don't go to college. Also I wanna die. But I'm still here, I'm still queer, and I pledge to give back to the three or four people who read my shitty fanfiction! I do apologize for the chapter being short, but I like to write these chapters in scenes, so they can be short at times.**

 **Anyways, melodrama aside, I do hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I look forward to reading your reviews! See ya in the next chapter!**


	8. My Spidey Senses Are Tingling

**Hey all! Considering what I said in my last update, I wanted to get another chapter out to also kind of clear some things up. I'm alright, just in a bit of a bad place at the moment. I use these author's notes to communicate with you all, but sometimes I can get a little too personal (or make jokes about things that aren't a joke to others), and for that I apologize.**

 **I do want to thank you all for the kind words, and a special thanks to TaylorMade on Ao3 for the in depth pep talk!**

 **Also, Clive54, I got a Red Forman vibe with this comment, and I don't know why I found it as funny as I do. Glad ya enjoy the content!**

 **Now, melodramatics aside, let's party!**

 **(The reference here comes from a pretty famous movie)**

 **!**

A few days after the WIzengamot session, Hermione had a day off for what felt like the first time in months, so she chose to spend the extra time in the morning doing something nice for her husband.

The witch was in the kitchen, a place she rarely inhabited given her hours at the ministry, making pancakes with the radio on. The butter popped merrily in the pan as she popped a piece of bread in the toaster.

She could make breakfast using magical means, but Hermione found that food often tasted just a bit better if it was made by hand. Maybe it was because of her muggle heritage, but the bright witch found she couldn't make herself rely solely on magic.

She idly flipped the radio to a magical station, curious to see if the floo network was busy on the way to Diagon Alley. The newscaster's voice cut in and droned on about the newest quidditch story while she cooked.

The slight nasally tone of the announcer helped Hermione ignore the outside world, and she lost herself in her cooking. It was a lot like her old potions class, though the risk of slightly burnt eggs was just a tad less worrisome than Draught of the Living Dead.

It helped, until the nasally tone was interrupted by one of urgency.

" _This just in: Ollivander's Wand Shop was found vandalized early this morning. Fellow shopkeepers of Diagon Alley said that they came to the street to open their doors when the smell of smoke alerted them to a frightening scene."_

Hermione paused in her task of flipping pancakes at that, the food threatening to burn itself in the process.

" _The ministry was quick to dispatch aurors to block to store from view, but reports say that the shop was burned to the ground, with only the sign distinguishable atop the rubble. Eyewitnesses believe that there was something written on the sign itself, but no statements have been made. The vandals appeared to have gotten in without tripping the wards and started the fire from the inside out. This comes at a bad time, as Hogwarts and other surrounding schools are set to start their term in just a few short months. We will release more on the story as details come-"_

"Hermione?" Her husband called from the doorway, and the witch snapped out of the trance she had been in, not soon enough to save breakfast.

She grimaced at the sight, a once beautiful meal now up in smoke, but turned to her husband.

He wore his usual flannel pajama bottoms and a sleeveless shirt. Ron's hair was still mussed up from sleep, and if the brunette had to guess, the smell of food was the only thing that roused him from bed.

She gave him an apologetic smile before turning back to the now-ruined breakfast.

"I had a day off from the ministry, and I thought I'd do something sweet." She smiled almost apologetically at the pancakes.

Ron's face lit up at the prospect of a meal, and at the nice gesture his wife had done for him.

"Thank you, darling." He said, his voice only half escaping sleep's clutches. He took the plate from her hands and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, before making a bee-line for the table. Syrup and butter floated along behind him, and placed themselves on top of his breakfast.

It had always amazed Hermione how quickly food could disappear from her husband's plate. His table habits were on par with any vanishing charm the witch could think of. The man could eat.

"'S good!" He smiled at her with a full mouth, and Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or to scold him. She settled for a simple roll of her eyes, one that only made his sticky smile wider.

"Honestly, Ronald." She said, though there was no heat to her words. It was such a Ron thing to do, she couldn't help but find it endearing.

The broadcast, and the nagging feeling it brought, was pushed out of her mind for the morning as she made a plate of her own.

Ron was right. The food was good.

 **!**

It was only after her husband had left for work that the feeling came back.

Hermione sat on the loveseat in their living room, the crackling of the fire and the radio doing their best to drown out the downpour outside.

She flipped the pages of Hogwarts: A History, while the soft sounds of the Weird Sisters encircled her. The Hogwarts alumni already knew the tome word for word, but something about reading it put her at ease.

The song stopped abruptly, popping the small protective bubble her environment had formed.

" _This just in: Hogsmeade's Three Broomsticks was next to go up in smoke, in broad daylight. Thankfully, the few patrons inside, along with the pub's owner, were able to evacuate safely._

 _Reports say the words 'Slaves No More' hovered over the pub as it burned, impossible to miss by onlookers. The fire reportedly couldn't be stopped, and raged on until the shop burnt to the ground._

 _It is unknown at this time if the words could be linked with the unknown message marked on Ollivander's Wand Shop, but you can count on the staff at Magic 98.1 to give you the latest and greatest on this ongoing investigation. Now back to your regularly scheduled broadcast."_

Hermione was stunned, her grip on her book going slack. It fell into her lap, but she couldn't be made to care.

The Three Broomsticks? Who would want to burn such a quaint, quiet little pub to the ground? And the words 'Slaves No More'…what did that mean?

The message gnawed at the back of Hermione's mind. She remembered speaking those same words at the Wizengamot session, but surely those simple words couldn't be linked to these acts of arson…

She thought back to the young goblin, and how enraged he'd been upon hearing the final verdict. It certainly hadn't helped that one Reginald Bernstein had accosted him afterwards, but Hermione couldn't remember a time when her words, meant to empower the goblins and open the eyes of the WIzengamot, had even been uttered to Arg.

Furthermore, Hermione reasoned, none of the reports had even mentioned any disturbances at Gringotts, nor had they spoken of any goblins being near the scenes.

She slowly rationalized it to herself, and stood up from her cozy nest, the warmth its safety provided now long gone.

Instead, she went to the liquor cabinet by the bookshelf, and grabbed the elven wine she kept. Ron was more of a Firewhiskey drinker, but on the few occasions his wife drank, she wanted something pleasant.

Besides, it helped her mind to let go of the things it wouldn't let go of.

A flash of ruby red lips wrapped around a flute of the same wine ran through Hermione's mind, but after a few more glasses, her mind was blissfully empty.

 **!**

A week later, Hermione found herself behind her desk, mindlessly going through paperwork. She'd charmed the window herself this time, and it showed a bright day, with a cottage nestled in the middle of a flowery meadow.

The ministry worker had taken to putting a radio on her desk, meticulously following the story of the vandals as more crimes unfurled.

Harry was put in charge of the investigation after another act of terrorism happened, with the ministry being the new target. The guest entrance had exploded, the rubble forming the same three words Hermione had come to dread. She had faith that this would all end soon, as she knew how steadfast and studious her best friend was when it came to her career.

She worked mechanically, thankful that her job could be monotonous enough to lull her into a pattern. Every time a song ended, she found that time seemed to stop; her breath would catch in her throat as she waited in dreadful anticipation for the newscaster's voice to declare another piece of the community blasted to bits.

So far, nothing new had happened, though a part of the witch knew it wouldn't last. Lately, Deliverance, as the news had labeled them, had struck nearly every day, destroying anything from potions shops to wizarding parks.

As of yesterday, they'd even taken to lighting ablaze the homes of prominent ministry officials, though how they knew the whereabouts, nobody could figure out.

She sincerely hoped Harry could stop this soon. Though there were no fatalities yet, she knew that could change quick-

" _This just in, Deliverance has turned to a darker means of getting the Wizarding World's attention. Reginald Bernstein, a prominent official in The Department For The Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, was discovered dead in his home just a few short hours ago. As per usual, the ministry was quick to dispatch aurors to block off the scene, but an interview with Bernstein's wife, Donna, who found her husband in his study, revealed this,"_

As Hermione's face morphed from shock to mortification, the newscaster's voice was replaced by a mourning widow.

" _I-I had gone to his study, to check on him. He often works-"_

A sob escaped, and the witch at her desk could hear the anguished cries of a wife who had just lost everything.

" _Worked…s-so hard that he'd forget to eat. I…I opened the door and found him laying there…"_

The newscaster seemed to know that it was time to stop the interview, and his voice took over once more.

" _Mrs. Bernstein goes on to say that she found her husband arranged spread-eagle on the floor of his study. His body held obvious signs of torture, possibly for hours, before an unknown assailant broke his neck. The words 'Slaves No More', were gruesomely carved into his flesh, possibly done while he was still alive."_

There was a knock on her door, and Hermione forced herself to turn the radio off. She wouldn't be able to focus if she heard more.

"C-come in." She choked out, her eyes still on the radio.

The door swung open, and an ashen Harry Potter entered. He wore his auror outfit, and held his wand in his hand, pointed straight at her. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"What's going on?" She asked, her heart racing. She searched his eyes for signs of an Imperius, but found only pain and sorrow.

Her wand flew out of her wrist holster and into her best friend's hand. He caught it with shaking fingers, his wand never leaving its mark at her chest. He stepped closer to her desk, and finally spoke.

"Hermione Jean Granger," He started, his voice shaking and barely above a whisper, "you are under arrest for ten counts of domestic terrorism, and the murder of your fellow department worker, Reginald Bernstein. You may come quietly, or you may resist, whereas I will be forced to restrain and or incapacitate you."

"This has to be a mistake! Harry, you know I wouldn't do something like this." Her voice rose with her body, and she backed away as he advanced. "Why would I kill someone?"

Chains suddenly appeared on her arms, and she was pulled by an unseen force back into her chair. As Harry magically forced her mouth closed, her eyes frantically bounced across the room, coming to rest on the calendar on her desk.

Just before a stupefy knocked her unconscious, she registered the date. How could she have forgotten?

May 2nd, 2003.

The five year anniversary of The Battle of Hogwarts.

 **!**

 **Alright, be honest, how many of you saw that coming?**

 **Anyways, to explain my absence, I actually spent a few days in a mental hospital. No, I'm not insane (they had me tested) (Big Bang Theory reference I'm so sorry), just a lot of personal experiences that are hard to deal with. If you're going through something and have the means to, I would highly suggest seeking help, as I did. If you're anything like me, you aren't alone, you just don't know who to reach out to.**

 **Lastly, if any of you ever need to talk, my dm's are always open.**

 **AAAAAANywho on a lighter note, I'm already thinking of another story, one that I'm actually kinda looking forward to. Should I write it now, or do you guys think that's too many irons in the fire?**

 **Let me know, and I'll see ya next chapter!**


	9. Don't go to Prison, the Food Sucks

**Hey all! Sorry for leaving ya on a cliffhanger there (that's a lie). I'm having a lot of fun with this story, actually, Now that I've kind of gotten back into the groove of it all. We have T-minus one chapter until we see everyone's favorite insane witch, so strap in, and enjoy!**

 **!**

Tucked away in a small cell in The Department of Magical Law Enforcement sat a very irate Hermione Granger.

Irate didn't cut it. She was furious.

Her hair was a rat's nest of wild curls; days rotting in a cell would do that to even the most hygienic person. She felt a film of grime on her skin, though she scrubbed herself with the small bowl of water she was allotted, and her teeth felt as though they were about to rot out of her skull.

Hermione knew that was a dramatic thought, but being the child of dentists made her hyperaware of gum disease. And gum disease was not pretty.

Under the anger, however, she felt many more emotions trying to claw their way to the surface.

Guilt. After all, a man was dead because of her, inadvertently or not. Hearing Mrs. Bernstein's voice on that damned radio had (almost) humanized Reginald. He wasn't just a goblin hater, and while he might have deserved a slap upside the head, the man didn't deserve to die. Least of all in the way that he did, tortured, and with Hermione's own words carved into his flesh.

Fear. To be honest, this emotion felt even harder to suppress than the guilt. The bright witch, for the first time since the war, didn't know what would happen in the next day, the next hour, even the next moment. Perhaps a lifetime sentence to Azkaban? Or would they show even less mercy, and give her The Kiss?

No, she didn't want to think about that, so anger, perhaps, was the best way to go.

Anger at the ministry for arresting her, though she could understand what might have pointed them her way. That didn't make it better, and she found that being locked in a dark, damp cell with only a bucket to relieve herself in didn't help to calm her down.

She was here, because the ministry needed a scapegoat.

She couldn't help but think of her whenever she thought of Azkaban.

Hermione had once asked her what Azkaban was like, and how she'd managed to survive.

As she stroked the scar on her arm, she thought of that moment.

 **!**

 _Two witches sat, side by side, on a grassy hill overlooking a meadow, their hands grazing one another every so often._

 _The place wasn't real, of course, instead some beautiful façade created by the Room of Requirement, but it served its purpose. The two women could forget who they were, where their loyalties were supposed to lie, if only for a few moments._

" _Bells?" Hermione said, a question on her lips. The other witch had begun to run her fingertips along the exposed skin of the younger witch's arm, tracing small patterns on the soft skin._

 _Bella hummed in acknowledgement, gently drawing the appendage into her lap._

 _She opened her mouth to ask, then snapped it shut. Maybe now wasn't the time, and she was certain that the older witch didn't want to speak of it._

"… _Nevermind, it's not important." Hermione laid her head on Bella's shoulder, getting lost in the curls that tickled her face._

" _It's always important when it comes to you." The brunette couldn't help but smile at that. Who knew Bellatrix Lestrange, the most feared death eater, was such a sap?_

" _Come now, pet, what's on your mind?" Gently, Bella guided Hermione's head from her shoulder to face her, stealing a kiss in the midst of it._

" _Well, I was, erm, sort of wondering…" Bella's expectant face made her stumble over her words, nervous that their protective bubble would burst._

" _What was Azkaban like?"_

 _A shadow fell over Bella's face, and her hand melted off of the young witch's face._

 _Bubble definitely burst._

" _Now why would you want to know about that accursed place, my pretty thing?"_

 _Bella's voice came out sickly sweet, and she turned away from Hermione, the shadow still over her features._

" _I….was just wondering….you never seem to talk about it…and I know it must've been hard to go through…" Every word out of her mouth felt like the wrong thing to say._

" _Hard? Hard is an understatement, my dear." Bellatrix hissed out. She stood, and Hermione was locked in place._

" _Hard is when you take a particularly nasty O.W.L. that you haven't studied a lick of. Hard is when you ask a pretty girl to a ball and she declines your invitation. Hard is NOT Azkaban."_

 _The room suddenly turned cold, and Hermione felt the sting of saltwater in the air._

 _She stood, following Bellatrix's long strides._

" _Azkaban…Azkaban is…how do the Christians say? Hell. Hell on earth."_

 _A cold seeped into her bones, one that wasn't due to the waves that had sprung up around her._

 _They were suddenly standing on a rocky shoreline, a massive tower soaring above them. Everything was a different shade of black, and it was a wonder Hermione could see._

 _Small dots of the deepest shade of pitch circled overhead, the source of her frozen feelings._

 _But Bellatrix didn't seem to notice. She stood in front of Hermione, gazing up at the tower like one would a god._

" _It sucks everything out of you, until you have nothing left. Many die within the first couple of months. They are the lucky ones."_

 _The dots seemed to notice them, as they began to circle overhead._

" _Many more go insane in the first few years. I suppose one could count them lucky, too."_

 _Closer and closer still, yet Bellatrix paid them no mind._

" _If you've really pissed off the gods, you'll keep your sanity, for the most part. You'll feel every second of every minute of every day without fail. The dementors will come to you the most, whether it's because your emotions are more delectable, or if they want to break you, I never figured out."_

 _They were right above them now, and Hermione shakily produced her wand. Her Patronus spell caught in her throat. She couldn't think of any happy thoughts, only the cold seeping through to her core. They came closer and closer, and Hermione could see the outline of their awful, grotesque features, slowly approaching, ready to take her soul._

 _The scene melted away, suddenly, and they now stood in an empty storage room._

" _It's not something you need to worry yourself over, darling." Bella was back, a chocolate frog in her hand._

" _You will never have to go there, love. Not as long as I draw breath."_

 **!**

 _The witch had kept her promise_ , Hermione thought bitterly. She traced her fingers, almost lovingly, over the jagged skin of the slur.

She wanted to feel angry again, but now, defeat filled her core. The young witch was tired of fighting, tired of pretending.

She missed Bellatrix Lestrange, most hated and infamous of Voldemort's army.

She had loved Bella, her lover and friend through all of it.

And now, she was going to rot away in a dingy cell, just like she did.

And the food was awful.

Hermione tucked herself away in the warmest corner of her cell, a six foot by six foot shoebox with no windows or doors. The warmest corner was where she slept, a pile of blankets that did nothing to pad the ground, and left her aching.

It was better than Azkaban, though, so she found herself relishing the time she had here, knowing that, perhaps, it would be the last time she would ever feel warmth.

There was a small dot of black against the drab grey of the wall, something she was sure she was hallucinating, as it was growing larger and larger.

Her brain caught up with her eyes soon enough, and she realized _someone was coming in_.

What did this mean? Was she being transferred so soon? To where?

Her thoughts were racing in her mind. _Should I fight? Should I obey? What's happening?_

She stood from her place on the floor and clenched her fists. If they were to take her, they would take a proud Hermione Granger, not some sniveling excuse for a witch.

Imagine her surprise when she felt arms wrap tightly around her waist, and the smell of chocolate, shampoo, and explosive powder fill her senses.

"Ron!" She buried her face in his neck and pulled him impossibly closer. Her husband returned the bone-crushing embrace, spinning her around and setting her back down on shaking legs.

"What's going on?" She asked immediately. If she were going to prison for life, and this was her last visitation, Hermione wanted to know.

Her husband opened his mouth to respond, but someone behind him beat the ginger to it.

"You're being released, Hermione Weasley." Harry stepped forward, and she realized she hadn't heard him enter.

"Oh? Finally realized I didn't _murder_ anyone?" Her eyes blazed fire, and Harry took a few steps back under her glare.

"Did you finally realize I had an alibi for the first vandalism, or is your head so far up your arse, you-"

Ron's hand found her shoulder, and he squeezed gently, stopping her rant midsentence.

Harry, at least, looked ashamed.

"I knew you hadn't done it, 'Mione. I know you couldn't even kill a spider, much less a person. But the ministry didn't. They didn't listen to Ron, and they didn't listen to me. But I had Kingsley and the Head of my department breathing down my neck to arrest you. When my partner came in and told me to arrest you, I fought it for as long as I could, but they threatened to take me off the case, and I knew if they did, you'd have rotted in Azkaban for the rest of your life."

Hermione cocked a brow and crossed her arms, motioning him to continue.

Harry pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I was told to either arrest you, or someone would be put on the case who would. I knew they'd do anything to stop an uproar in the public eye."

There was a moment of silence, and Hermione debated whether or not to stay mad.

She wanted to, but her trust in Harry won out.

"You're a total wanker, you know." She said, surprising him with her language.

He smiled sheepishly. "I've been called that quite a few times."

Harry pulled a small vial out of his pocket and passed it to her.

"Veritaserum. One of the terms of your release. I'll explain everything after you take this, I promise."

 **!**

After taking the potion, Harry had sat her and Ron down in his small office, and questioned Hermione. It went something like this:

"Did you commit any of the Deliverance crimes?"

"No."

"Are you in affiliated in any way with Deliverance?"

"No."

"….Are you still cross with me for binding you, knocking you unconscious, and throwing you into a cell?"

"Very much so."

"Understandable."

Afterwards, he explained the whole situation.

After Hermione's arrest, it was immediately announced that a suspect had been apprehended. Post announcement, no further crimes had occurred, so to the ministry, it was a very open and shut case.

Harry had refused to believe his best friend had done these horrible things, so he wouldn't let it go until he'd left no stone unturned.

"And it was hard. Everyone in my department wanted it to be over, but I pointed out that Deliverance could just be laying low."

Even so, he was given a week to either find new evidence or close the case. So he went back to the only place there was any evidence to go off of.

"I searched every nook and cranny of Reginald Bernstein's study. Just when I thought all was lost, on day five I found this,"

Harry reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small vial. Inside were silvery wisps that Hermione was familiar with.

"You found his memory?"

He nodded. "Bernstein, while not a pureblood wizard, is still a bloodline with deeply magical roots. He managed to pull the memory out, transfigure himself a vial, and hide it as he lay dying. I'd read about magic being the strongest when you're close to death, but his wand was found snapped, so to do all of this wandless absolutely boggles my mind. It's been inspected for tampering, but it checks out."

The memory, he explained, was his torture. And it was just as brutal as the body had shown.

"At first, I couldn't believe my eyes, Hermione. Goblins, many I've talked to when visiting Gringotts, doing unspeakable things to this man."

The ministry was quick to dispatch aurors to the bank, to no avail. The whole building was under lockdown, and mages found themselves kept out by the very wards they themselves had lain down, slightly twisted to keep humans out.

"That's when the department thought you might still be working with them, so I suggested Veritaserum. They'd either be right, and you'd be forced to tell them how to get into Gringotts, or they'd be wrong, and an innocent woman would be free."

He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, watching Hermione's face for a reaction.

"Oh." She ever so smartly replied.

It was a lot to take in. On one hand, she was glad her name was cleared.

On the other, goblins were planning something, and she was certain that it was another rebellion.

"Yeah." Harry replied. He stood.

"But come on. Kingsley wanted to speak with you in the event you were innocent. He'll be happy to hear it."

 **!**

"Hermione!" Kingsley Shacklebolt stood from his desk, a genuine smile brightening his features.

The man wore his usual robes, and reading glasses. He motioned for her to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Thank you, Harry. Now, if you don't mind, there are a few things I'd like to discuss with Mrs. Granger, alone." He smiled politely, and Harry took the hint. He nodded, squeezed Hermione's shoulder, and left.

"I'd like to start off by apologizing, Hermione." The minister addressed. "I wasn't told whom the suspect was, only that it was the best lead we had, and my aurors were doing nothing about it." While he didn't hang his head, she felt the sincerity in his words.

"It's alright, sir." She said truthfully, though the Veritaserum had worn off. "Sometimes people don't want to be honest with their superiors."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. However, after all you've been through, both these past few days and all those years ago, I wanted to be honest with you."

Kingsley stood, and walked over to the massive bookshelf his office held. He waved his wand in a complicated series of flicks and twists, and Hermione felt the air change as some sort of barrier fell away.

He pulled a book off the shelf that hadn't looked to have been there, and gingerly set it on his desk, facing her.

"What's this?" She asked, her eyes trying to find any discernable markings. It was an old book, with the edges of its plain-black cover worn away, and the pages yellowed with time. The book wasn't very thick, either, perhaps two hundred or so pages.

"This is the truth about the Goblin Rebellions, as seen by the wizarding world." He explained, gently opening the front cover. It was blank, but with a wave of his wand, words began to write themselves onto the page.

"1612. The First Goblin Rebellion begins in Hogsmeade, caused by a lack of representation in the Wizengamot. The small town is next to Hogwarts, and the goblins would stop at nothing for their freedom, even if it meant slaughtering the students."

Hermione read along with his words, the book outlining details of the attack.

They had come from the ground, a hellish volcano bubbling out enraged warriors, who'd begun slashing and hexing those who stood in their way. The last mages in Hogsmeade held up in The Three Broomsticks, and the goblins began to advance.

"It's stopped by a young wizard from a powerful family, one that studied sealing magic for the longest time, a dark magic that, if mastered, can seal magic from the host. The goblins' power is sealed away, save for a few wisps, and the young man disappears."

The young witch looked up at the minister, her eyes shining with questions. He shook his head, silently telling her that all would be clear in due time.

"1752." The pages quickly flip through the book, stopping suddenly halfway through.

"The rebellion is much bloodier. By this time, the goblins ally themselves with the werewolves, and are terrorizing the wizarding world. The seal has been broken, and the goblins and the lycans will stop at nothing to achieve their goals."

Pictures of bloodthirsty creatures tearing into humans appeared on the pages, and Hermione had to look away at the horrible sight.

"Desperate, the Minister of Magic, one of the only people who knew the truth of the last rebellion, seeks out the family of the young wizard. The family, more specifically, the eldest of the generation, still knows the ritual used. It had been passed down for generations, you see, as a closely guarded secret. They refused to share it, but strike a deal with the minister."

"The deal was, that ads long as the family could hide their crimes from the public, the ministry would turn a blind eye. Their darkness had corrupted them, something in their core driving them to do unspeakable things, but the minister had no choice but to accept. The ritual is performed, and the goblins and werewolves are forced to surrender."

Hermione was brimming with questions now, but forced herself to remain quiet.

"Lastly, 1790. Not much is known about this rebellion, as the goblins managed to destroy most of the accounts, but it follows the same path."

He flipped to the last page. "The names of the mages who know the rituals. It is passed down only to the eldest of the generation, as their magic is the strongest."

Her eyes immediately raced across the page.

 _ **Orion Arcturus Black (1545-1612?)**_

 _ **Eridanus Cetus Black (1592-1695)**_

 _ **Pyxis Antlia Black (1665-1752)**_

 _ **Elladora Vela Black (1718-1790)**_

 _ **Lyra Vulpecula Black (1765-1870)**_

 _ **Phineas Nigellus Black (1847-1925)**_

 _ **Arcturus Black (1901-1991)**_

 _ **Lucretia Andromeda Black (1925-1992)**_

 _ **Bellatrix Druella Black (1951-1998)**_

Her eyes widened comically. "The Blacks? Are you saying Draco knows the ritual?"

Shacklebolt shook his head. "No. The ritual is taught only when the firstborn of the next generation turns twenty. By then, their magic is fully matured. No, I'm afraid the ritual died with Bellatrix."

Even hearing her name spoken aloud sent shivers down Hermione's spine. She touched the scar on her arm surreptitiously, and repeated two words over and over in her head.

She's dead.

She's dead.

She's dead.

She's dead.

She's dea-

"But we've found a way to bring her back."

Hermione's blood froze in her veins, and her fingers frantically clutched the mark on her arm.

"Bring her back? Are you insane?" She asked Kingsley. "She was Voldemort's right hand, his most loyal, a woman responsible for dozens, if not hundreds of deaths! And you want to bring her back?"

She cursed her heart for speeding up, and crushed the affection threatening to emerge. Bellatrix hadn't loved her, and she'd be damned if she was going to hope for her return.

"It's the only way, Hermione." Kingsley looked pained, and the witch realized that he probably didn't want her back any more than she did.

Hermione was still adamantly against it. Had Bellatrix not expressly shown her her true colors at Malfoy Manor, perhaps she'd feel differently.

But Bellatrix only cared about her lord, and Hermione had hardened her heart since then.

"There's got to be another way. What about Draco? He's the eldest of the generation, and it's got to be written down somewhere, right?"

"We've searched every book in the Malfoy and Black libraries, and tracked down every descendent or distant cousin, but nothing's come up. The only one left unknown is Andromeda, but she's disappeared."

Hermione slumped back into her seat. Her eyebrows knit together, and she felt a headache start to form.

"I see. And how do you know Bellatrix would even be willing to do this?"

Kingsley reached into his desk and produced a roll of parchment.

"When the ministry realized this was the only way, I had my secretary draw up a special, binding contract."

He laid the parchment on the desk, and it unrolled itself in front of Hermione.

 _ **I, (Your name here), of sound mind and soul, do hereby pledge to aid the ministry in defeating the goblins. I understand that absconding with intent to abandon this mission will result in immediate loss of life. Furthermore, I will not harm any innocent person without just provocation.**_

 _ **Signed,**_

 _ **(Signature here)**_

"You think making her sign a contract will just make her fall into place?" Hermione asked incredulously.

Kingsley looked offended. "This is not just any contract, you see. It's as binding as an Unbreakable Vow. If she harms any innocent without first being harmed, she will die. If she tries to flee and leave the wizarding world to its fate, she will die."

"And if she refuses?" Hermione asked. "She's already died once, and death is inevitable. She could have no interest in sparing us."

"A few things." Kingsley explained as he rolled the parchment back up and stuck it in his desk. "One, Bellatrix had a close relationship to both her sisters prior to the First Wizarding War. I believe that, being dead, she'll realize that blood purity was simply a farce, meant to make purebloods unashamed of their inbreeding, and want to reconcile with Andromeda. Narcissa already has."

"Secondly, there's this."

He pulled a second roll of parchment from his robes, this one a blueish hue.

"The prophecy."

Hermione felt floored for the second time in the span of twenty or so minutes. She'd been in a cell for maybe _six_ days! How could all of this have happened in such a short time?

"We have the actual prophecy in the Hall of Prophecies, of course, but we were able to write this one down. Luckily, Trelawney had been in the Great Hall when she gave this one, so it wasn't lost."

He unrolled the parchment, which began to speak in her former Divination professor's voice.

"A secret, sapphic affair,

Lost in betrayal.

A woman filled with bloodlust,

The ultimate savior.

The brightest of witches,

The darkest of times,

And with two new faces,

Hope may arise.

A conflict between two sides,

Neither light nor dark,

Ends in tragedy,

A world falls apart.

Should two souls embrace the dark,

All is surely lost,

The only escape,

Is from a love almost lost."

Hermione tried to keep herself from shaking. She wasn't a fool; she could gather what part of it meant.

It was just her luck that her relationship with Bellatrix sodding Lestrange would become a bloody prophecy.

"We're not sure who Bellatrix's lover was, but we are sure she had one. I'm willing to bet she'd want to see the woman again."

 _I beg to differ,_ Hermione thought bitterly, but she didn't voice her concerns.

She would admit to nothing.

"So, how are you going to bring her back?"

 **!**

 **And that is a wrap! This chapter is almost 4,000 words, not counting the author's notes, and was a doozy to type up. With the end of this chapter, so too marks the end of buildup, and the beginning of the good stuff!**

 **Tune in next time to check out how we're gonna bring back B(a)ellatrix Lestrange!**

 **See you lovelies later!**


	10. Guess Who's Back (Back, Back),Back Again

**Heyo! So I'm sure you can all infer by the title, our favorite insane(ly hot) dark witch makes her grandiose entrance! I'm excited, so for once, I'll just cut right to the chase.**

 **IMPORTANT: I've recently spoken with a fellow reader (I haven't asked them if they would prefer to remain anonymous or not, so for now, mums the word), who is a part of a charity organization known as Carers Support, which helps to support those caring for loved ones who need more particular things (IV's, life support, etc.) in the Bristol and South Gloucestershire area, so if you are interested in learning more or supporting this charity, here is the link!**

 **" . /"**

 **For those wondering, by the way, I've sort of modeled this afterlife after the Lake of Souls from the Cirque du Freak series. I recommend it; it was a favorite series of mine when I was but a wee lass.**

 **Anyways, enjoy!**

 **!**

Bellatrix was lost in the circular motion of her fate, just another tortured soul being pulled into the empty expanse of nothingness.

She passed others, occasionally, that looked much like her: faceless, glowing orbs that floated just out of reach.

She wondered if they were aware of their own existence anymore, or if they'd already been lost to the gentle motion of invisible waves.

More than anything, Bellatrix just wanted something to happen. Where was the fire and brimstone, the hellacious torture so many people were sure she'd be destined for upon death?

Where were the big, pearly gates muggles spoke of, surrounded by winged seraphs, their trumpets blasting in a song that would drop the dark witch to her knees?

Nowhere.

Just an endless sea of nothing, her soul doomed to wander, always wondering what she could've done to prevent this.

Until something extraordinary happened.

The former death eater watched as, in the middle of the emptiness, something _bloomed._

It was a small ray of light, and to say it was blooming was perhaps incorrect. It resembled a blade, slicing cleanly through the darkness, so bright that if Bellatrix had eyes, she was sure she'd be blind.

The light slowly dimmed, and she realized it wasn't just light, but an _opening._

She could see the real world, just beyond the thin film of light…was that the veil?

She tried desperately to rush towards the opening, to no avail. Nothing would pull her out of the motion death had set for her.

A rope shot into her dwelling just then and flew towards her. She waited, hoping against hope that it was her this rope, this savior had chosen.

It snaked its way around thin wisps Bellatrix hadn't even noticed before, echoes of a soul, and then pulled them out of death.

It was gone, and Bellatrix was left once more to her fate.

If her soul was capable of it, she would weep. Perhaps her earlier thoughts were inadequate; this wasn't purgatory. It _was_ Hell. Instead of pain, this world left her desolate, and gave her hope, only to rip it away once more.

She floated aimlessly along, no longer even facing the opening. Bellatrix continued her circular motion-

Wait.

Something was wrong.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Bellatrix wasn't floating in the same direction.

The soul was abuzz with energy, and her mind simply kept repeating _this is it this is it this is it-_

 **!**

Hermione followed Shacklebolt to the elevators, her face ashen, her wand clutched in a white-knuckled grip. Ron and Harry followed behind, sharing the same look as the intelligent witch.

A squadron, of highly-trained and seasoned aurors followed suit, their composure grim and business-like.

Kingsley, Hermione, Ron, and Harry boarded one elevator, grasping the hand holds as soon as the minister pressed floor 9.

"Remind me why we're bringing back the worst death eater ever to exist?" Ron asked.

"Because she's the only one who can stop a goblin rebellion that, realistically, would never have happened if the Wizengamot wasn't still set in the stone ages." Hermione responded, letting a small amount of bite bleed into her words.

"I see. Kingsley, mate, after this, I'd fire all the blokes on the panel."

"And who, exactly, would you suggest replace them, Mr. Weasley?"

"Probably someone who didn't inadvertently start a rebellion, but that's just a thought."

"Mmm. Noted."

The quartet arrived at Level 9 shortly after and waited for the rest of the aurors to show up.

The Department of Mysteries. Exactly how Hermione remembered it. She hadn't been here since her fifth year, yet she could recall every crack in the stone walls like the back of her hand.

It was the first time she'd laid eyes on the dark witch.

 _And she was beautiful…_

She stopped that thought almost before it could start, steadfastly refusing to be weakened by her feelings.

The aurors showed up shortly after, and they made their way to the Death Chamber.

Upon entering, Hermione was mildly shocked at how much colder and darker it felt than before. It was as if, as the souls entered, just a bit of The Veil seeped out and into the room. Ever so faintly, Hermione found that she could hear the softest of whispers, and saw a small ripple coming from the inside of the massive stone archway.

Right in front of the archway, a small pile of ashes sat, slightly darker than the floor. She swallowed thickly when she realized that those specks of dust made up the body of Bellatrix Lestrange.

That arch sent her back, and for a second, she was a terrified child playing hero with her friends, as madmen hounded after. She'd taken a calming draught before they came, but she could feel her anxiety bubbling just underneath the surface.

The aurors fanned out into the amphitheater surrounding The Veil and took up positions all around the room. In the center, along with the quartet, stood several Unspeakables, their wands pointed at the archway. They said nothing, but Hermione could feel their magic channeling towards the center.

Shacklebolt lifted his own wand and aimed it at the middle of the circle.

"Is everyone ready?" He looked each and every person sharing the room with him for confirmation. His eyes hesitated just a moment longer on Hermione, and she gave him the best determined nod she could muster.

In all actuality, the one part of her life she thought she could someday forget would be back, and more prevalent than ever. She would never be ready.

" _ **Qur Mortuus est Tibi,**_

 _ **Anima non Quiescit,**_

 _ **Et ego Invocabote,**_

 _ **Redire in Terra Viventium."**_

A bright light shot out of his wand, and the minister gripped it with both hands as he struggled to pull… _something…_ out of The Veil.

Only a small wisp of smoke broke out, and quickly dissipated.

Undeterred, Kingsley threw his magical line back in, reminding Hermione vaguely of a fisherman going after a prized bass.

This time, he managed to catch a more substantial soul, one that pulled him forward until Harry and Ron managed to catch him.

The three pulled with all their might, until a bright orb emerged. It bounced frantically against its bindings, but the magical line held strong.

Slowly but surely, Shacklebolt managed to coax the orb to the pile of ashes in front of its former dwelling.

The second the orb touched the ashes, they swirled around it, as if each speck were greeting an old friend. Faster and faster they went, until a small twister stood before the mages.

Hermione's heart caught in her throat at the sight of toes, and then pale feet, then legs, the ashes travelling upwards and forming an all-too-familiar body in the process.

Legs gave way to knees, then thighs, a torso, and not a scrap of clothing in sight, much to the young witch's chagrin.

Bellatrix Druella Lestrange nee Black stood in front of her after five years and was as naked as the day she was born.

 _And she was beautiful…_

Upon returning, every scar, every mark that Hermione had mapped out years ago, had vanished. In their place unblemished, alabaster skin. She looked healthy, as if she hadn't lived through two wars, an abusive home, and a fourteen-year stint in Azkaban.

Gone were the sunken eyes, and instead, healthy black irises darted frantically around the room. Her face was still as angular as Hermione remembered, but her skin glowed as if the sun were trapped beneath it.

Her lips were plump and full, parted in a dazed look of awe, and her teeth were no longer jagged and rotten, instead a brilliant shade of white.

Even her hair seemed to notice the change, falling in shining ringlets around her face.

Bellatrix resembled a lioness to Hermione. Looking around, she saw a few aurors lower their guard, as the dark witch had no wand, but the scars on the muggleborn's arm wouldn't let her forget just how deadly she could be.

Scared black eyes locked with scared brown ones, and Bellatrix opened her mouth wider, trying to form words.

"D-do-"

A stunner flew from Hermione's wand before she could stop herself.

Bellatrix's eyes widened, and then fell shut as she dropped to the floor.

 **!**

 **And that is another chapter! I know this one was short, compared to the last one, but I liked the finality of this scene. The translation for the latin I got from google translate, and it reads:**

" **You who have died, your soul not at rest, I call upon thee, to return to the land of the living."**

 **A bit of a coppout, in my opinion, but I have a rhyme and a reason for it.**

 **Anywho, I haven't really picked a day to update this story, so I guess, tentatively, once a week? Maybe a little longer, just because I have college finals coming up.**

 **I hope you all enjoyed, and I'd love to read your thoughts and feedback!**

 **See ya in the next chapter!**


	11. A Light in the Darkness Goes out

**Wow. Hey everyone. It's been a hot minute, yeah? A lot has happened in my life from the last time I uploaded. My dad walked out on my mom, and I was hospitalized twice. Suffice to say that this wasn't a priority at the time. BUT I'm recovering from my car wreck, and my mom and I are treading water, so I'm back!**

 **I'd like to take a moment and thank every one of you who has left kudos, reviews, favorites, etc.**

 **Logging back into my fanfiction and Archive of our own accounts, I didn't expect to see all the love and support for my writing that I did. You guys are the best, and I do hope this chapter is worth the 5ish months it took to make it to your screen!**

 **!**

When Bellatrix awoke, she was convinced all of it was some sort of hellish vision, created by the veil to further torment her.

The first thing she registered was a pounding in her head, which was strange. She couldn't recall ever feeling her body when she was floating listlessly through an endless expanse of nothing. And this room was very much not nothing.

 _Take the potion…_

As she sat up, her head began to pound harder, as if a myriad of pixies decided to throw one helluva party between her ears. She groaned, instinctively reaching up and trying to rub the pain away.

 _Cause destruction…_

Bellatrix was shocked to find that she could feel again in that moment. She felt the thin cotton of whatever garb she was dressed in, the scratchy texture of the blanket covering her bare legs, the soft ringlets of hair that were messily splayed atop her head.

Strange. Very strange, indeed.

As her headache slowly subsided, she chanced a peek through heavy lids, and found herself in a rather cold room. Not cold as in temperature, but cold as a brick wall may be to a child, impersonal and unsocial.

 _Take the potion…_

She knew this place. Recognized it from her old life. What was the name?

Margos…

Muggles?

 _Kill._

Mentos.

Mungos..?

 _Potion._

Mungos! Yes! The wizarding hospital. She visited here once as a child, when her father had gone a little too far with disciplinary actions. There was a nice nurse who tried to make her talk about what happened, and given her a sympathetic smile along with a chocolate frog when she stayed silent.

 _Torture._

The whiteness of the room both irritated her and eased her tensions.

 _Potion._

Irritation, because why white? Why not some other color that isn't terribly harsh on the eyes?

 _Disembowel._

Ease, because if she saw white, she didn't see black, and black meant she was back in that accursed cycle. Maybe she wasn't dead aftera- _POTIONMAIMPOTIONKILLPOTIONEVISCERATE_

She clutched her head with both hands, her groan reverberating throughout the room. The Voices being back confirmed that she was, in fact, alive, as they hadn't followed her through death.

She used her prowess in Occlumency to try to block them out, but only succeeded in quieting their near-deafening screams to a more conversational level. Her skin still buzzed with the hate-filled energy they gave. It would do for now, but she'd need a calming draught, or perhaps to kill a few small creatures, to keep them sated.

The door to the small, windowless hospital room she inhabited opened, and heavily armored aurors filed in, each taking a place along the wall as if they'd practiced while she'd been unconscious.

The thought was enough to make her chuckle, though her laugh died in her throat as the last few people trickled in.

The Golden Trio.

Potter, the insufferable thorn in her side, looked at her with barely concealed rage. She cocked an eyebrow at him in response, as if daring him to attack.

The Weasel, a blood traitor (not that it mattered anymore, she guessed), a look identical to the man who's shadow he lurked in on his features. He got a smirk from the older witch, and it only served to make him angrier, his face as flaming red as his hair.

 _Hermione…_

She was sure if she'd been standing, Bellatrix's knees would have buckled at the sight.

Her dove, her muse, the very breath in her lungs.

The smirk fell away the instant her eyes danced to the younger woman's, whose face was simply a mask of contempt. Weasel's arm was around her, and she appeared to have no wand, as everyone else in the room had theirs pointed at the dark witch. Bellatrix's jaw clenched at the thought of the ginger haired nuisance touching what was hers.

"Bellatrix Druella Lestra-" A dark skinned man, one she vaguely recognized, began before she cut him off.

"It's _Black_ now," She interrupted, her voice scratchy with disuse, "It's 'Till death do we part' as the muggles say, is it not? I've died, so I can finally drop that ridiculous surname."

The man cleared his throat, clearly irritated at the sudden interruption. "Very well, Ms. _Black_. You've been brought back for one reason, and one reason alone."

He reached into his robes and pulled out a roll of parchment and a quill, handing it to her with only a second's hesitation.

She took the parchment, amused at how on edge everyone seemed to be. If she weren't sure someone else would get a little too free with their hexes, she'd probably try to make them jump.

As it were, she opened the parchment and skimmed it quickly, a laugh leaving her lips as she finished.

"Gone and pissed off the goblins, have you? I could've told you that was a bad idea." She took a moment to revel in the uncomfortable atmosphere before rolling the parchment up matter-of-factly and setting in her lap.

"And just what makes you think I want to help? I've already died; truly, I could not care less whether or not you lot have figured it out."

"So you'll just let your sisters and nephew die along with the rest of the wizarding world?" Kingsley asked.

Fire erupted behind black irises. "You leave my family out of this, you filthy little cretin." She spat at him.

"Why? The goblins won't." The minister shot back.

She ran her tongue along her bottom teeth before answering quietly, "Because they've been through enough." _Because I put them through enough._

"Besides," She went on, putting on a haughty act to hide her brief second of weakness, "I'm not convinced this isn't simply a ploy to get something out of me. Surely you twits weren't dim enough to anger the goblins after my passing."

The silence that followed was all the answer she needed. The aurors that surrounded her exchanged worried glances, moving for the first time since they'd entered.

She scoffed after a beat, "How ironic. The side of the light, so dim they couldn't cast a lumos with the Elder Wand. Pathetic."

"We defeated your master, didn't we?" The Boy Who Lived spoke up, clearly fed up with the dark witch.

"Did you?" She asked, her eyes shining as a large grin spread across her face. "Tell me, was it a collective effort? Because from my perspective, you were all the pawns of an old man, until that old man went and died. Then you relied on your bushy haired friend for guidance. Could you even tell who the Dark Lord was, or did you need him to be pointed out to you?"

Potter stepped up, wanting to retaliate, his wand pointed straight at the unflinching witch, when Kingsley put out a hand to stop him.

"Ms. Black, we are asking for your help. If you do not wish to do so, and doom the wizarding world, then we can return your soul to The Veil." He met her steely gaze with his own.

"…And my wand?" She asked, jutting her chin out in a small act of defiance.

He motioned for an auror who held a dark leather case. It floated to her and sat itself gingerly atop the parchment in her lap.

She regarded it as a knight in the crusades might've handled the holy grail, gingerly unclasping the locks on either side as though if she moved too fast it would disintegrate.

Her beautiful wand lay in pristine condition on a soft bed of velvet. A genuine smile graced Bellatrix's features, and she gently reached for it.

The shock she got when her fingers made contact was unexpected, however, and she tore her hand away. Her angry gaze snapped up to Kingsley.

"There's a ward on it, preventing you from taking it until you sign the contract. Furthermore, it will be monitored, and if you're caught using anything more than simple stunners on mages, unless under life threatening circumstances, you will be immediately sent to Azkaban." He explained.

Bellatrix expected him to be smug about it, but the man's hardened features gave no emotion away. For some reason, that only made her angrier, and her teeth clenched powerfully.

So this was what a leashed hound felt.

"Very well," She agreed slowly, as if tasting the words on her tongue, "I will agree to these terms…on one condition."

The man grimaced briefly, but quickly regained composure. "And what is that?"

She smiled mischievously. "I'd like a drink. There's a pub in Diagon Alley I've always fancied, so if you take me there, I'll sign your sodding contract and help you fix the mess you've made."

"Sign the contract first." Kingsley demanded.

Her smile simply widened as she leaned against the headboard of her cot. "Such a foolish man, believing you have power here. Either agree to my terms or send me back. Rather reasonable, if you ask me."

He mulled over it in his mind for a few moments. "Very well. But you will be accompanied by everyone in this room, and I myself will have your wand. Should you try to escape…"

"You'll do what? Kill me?" She cackled. She was bluffing, of course, but they didn't need to know that.

He gave her a last once over before turning on his heel and leaving. The aurors followed suit, and Harry and Ron left as well. The only one to linger was Hermione, who's face had an unreadable expression on it.

"It's good to see you again, dove." Bellatrix said softly, once she was sure they were alone, "You've changed. Gotten older, I suppose, but you look ravishing as always."

"I'm married, Ms. Black." Hermione spat, shooting Bella a glare that had the older witch recoiling in shock.

"I just thought you'd want to know."

And with that, she left, with an already broken witch crumbling further behind her.

 **!**

 **And there we have it folks! Another chapter down! I do hope it was worth the wait! What did you think of Bellatrix? Personally, I felt as though Bella truly is batshit crazy, but I wanted there to be a deeper reason than just, "oh yeah btw she's fuckin insane", ya know? Plus it all ties together, just trust me on that!**

 **Anywho, let me know how you all feel about this, and I will see you lovelies in the next chapter!**


	12. Somebody Get Me A Goddamned Drink

**Well hello again, lovelies! I appreciate the support from all of you; I couldn't have hoped for a better reception of my return! I'll be uploading from now on about once a week. Surprisingly, I don't think I have any long-winded explanation or tirade to go on, so I'll see all of you at the bottom!**

 **!**

Narcissa Malfoy sat in her garden, staring out at the vast sea of beautiful, exotic flowers that stretched happily towards the shining sun.

A sense of numb had washed over her, something she'd become familiar with over the years since the war. It wasn't necessarily a lack of emotion, but an overwhelming amalgamation of them that the blond witch fought on a daily basis.

The woman had lost everything.

Her husband was serving a fifteen-year sentence in Azkaban after the ministry ruled that, while Narcissa had done something to stop Voldemort, Lucius had not.

The bitterness she felt towards the ministry, characterized by the bile that rose in her chest, gave way to sorrow at the thought of her son.

Draco. Her sweet boy.

He was the only one she could truly confide in, and she could see him slipping away with every passing moment.

Her son had gotten an entry-level job within the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and spent his days pouring over the width of broom bristles or the circumference of game-regulation quaffles.

She knew he hated it, as he was being treated as an assistant when he was _more_ than good enough to play professionally (in her opinion, at least), but he didn't speak a word of his trials. He had to work twice as hard for half the credit, and if his mother could, she'd go back to the very moment he'd accepted the dark mark and take her son far, far away from that accursed man.

Narcissa knew she couldn't; not without altering the outcome of the world itself, anyways. So instead, she watched as her bright, spry little boy became a broken, world weary, shell of a man.

The youngest Black felt the weight of the world resting on her shoulders, but she had to keep it together for the sake of her son. It became hard and harder with each passing day, when she couldn't even walk the streets of Diagon Alley without fear of assault.

The house elves had noticed their mistress's distress, as well. She wasn't eating nearly enough to keep herself properly nourished, but they still sent her meals every day at the same times. She wasn't sleeping, so they took turns brewing pepper up potions (and punishing themselves for using mages' items) to leave by her bed.

Could the blond witch feel anything through the storm of her own creation, she'd be touched. These creatures suffered years of abuse at her husband's, and if she were being honest, her own hands. Yet, these same creatures cared enough for her that they genuinely tried to make things somewhat manageable.

The flapping of wings momentarily broke up the uneasy quiet that had settled across the garden.

An owl, one that held itself in such a proud and royal posture that only came with being a ministry owl, landed gracefully on the arm of the chair she currently occupied. Narcissa broke off a piece of the untouched sandwich that had somehow appeared whilst she was lost within herself and fed the creature.

The owl in turn offered its leg, a regal looking letter tied to it.

She mentally cursed. Hadn't they put her through enough? Constant unscheduled "house visits" over the years, coupled with the rather unceremonious raid of her library and the interrogation that followed, left her with more than a few negative emotions, to say the least.

She took the letter, and her new feathered friend waited patiently for her response.

 _Dearest Cissy,_

 _I know I've been away for some time; five years, I'm told. I am back, and I would love to see you and answer some questions, if you'll have me._

 _Should the mood strike you, I shall be at McSweeney's at 9 o' clock._

 _It would mean a lot if you could make it._

 _I love you, sister dear._

 _Yours,_

 _Bella_

"Pipin!" She called as she conjured a quill and some parchment. Narcissa quickly penned her response. The house elf appeared just as the ministry owl took its leave.

"What can Pipin do for mistress?" The small elf asked almost excitedly, her large eyes looking up lovingly at the witch.

"Ready my travelling cloak. I'm going out tonight."

There was no denying that the handwriting on the note was her sister's. But if this was an elaborate stunt meant to further taunt Narcissa, they would think Voldemort was a gnome infestation compared to her.

 **!**

The bar in question, McSweeney's, sat right at the edge of Diagon and Knockturn Alley. It was a sort of upscale dive bar, one who's patrons quickly made their exit when the dozen or so aurors walked through the doors.

The aurors surrounded Kingsley, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, while the quartet encased one recently revived dark witch.

Bellatrix, nonetheless, walked with a sort of confidence only she possessed, and sat down in a vacant booth near the back.

Kingsley and the head auror, an unassuming man whose name escaped the woman, sat next to her, while the Golden Trio placed themselves in front of her.

An auror showed up a few moments later with the table's requests, and Bellatrix took the firewhiskey readily.

"I must say," she started, taking a swig of the drink and sighing with content at the burning sensation it gave, "It _is_ lovely to drink on the ministry's dime."

"Why are we allowing this to happen, again?" Ron asked the minister, not acknowledging the murderess that sat to his left.

Bellatrix cut the dark-skinned man of before her could respond. "Perhaps because I no longer fear death, and I'm the only hope to save your worthless hides from the horrors you yourselves caused?"

He closed his mouth at that, but she saw how badly he'd wanted to respond. She had to smirk at that; she might be the ministry's pet, but the threesome seemed to be just as bound as she.

"Minister." Another faceless auror approached the booth, his features hard and unreadable.

"Yes, Auror Hughes?"

"Narcissa Malfoy requests to be let in. Says she was invited."

Bellatrix lit up at that, a childlike grin spreading across her face. "She most certainly was!"

The dark witch nearly pushed the two men blocking her in her haste to be let out, and began to look for her baby sister.

At the booth, Hermione had fallen silent. She was on the end, wanting to distance herself from where Bellatrix sat. Harry, sensing the tension, had struck up a conversation with her husband about the Chudley Cannons to try to calm his best friend, and she tuned out the quidditch talk. Her hand was covering the mark the witch had given her, and she rubbed it as she bore holes into the table with her eyes.

It was almost as if the younger witch were trying to remind herself of what a monster Bellatrix was, and not the lover she was before.

" _What troubles you, dove?"_

" _Nothing, Bella, don't worry."_

" _No, I know that look. You try to be strong, but your face always gives you away."_

"… _what is going to happen when the war reaches its apex? When we're forced to look across each other from the battlefield?"_

 _A heavy sigh. "Well, pet, I can't make you any promises. To do so would be unfair. But as a woman who has lived my life preplanned, why not take it one day at a time?"_

She was so much like when she was alive, in the moments the two got together away from the war.

Sarcastic, but not sadistic.

She knew it was all an act.

It had to be.

Meanwhile, Bellatrix had finally spotted her sister, and the two made a beeline for one another.

"Cissy!" Her smile threatened to split her face, and went to hug the other witch, only to be rebuffed. Her face fell with her arms.

"Make no mistake, Bellatrix," Narcissa began coldly, "I am angry with you. _Five years_ you've been alive, and you only tell me once you've become a puppet for the ministry? You are a far cry from the woman I knew."

"Let me explain, Narcissa." She motioned for the two to sit at a small table in the middle of the room. Kingsley looked as if her were going to protest, but upon surveying how attentive his men all around the room were, allowed the two their reprieve.

Bellatrix signaled the bartender for two drinks, and waited for them before she began.

"I was dead, Narcissa." She said, watching her sister's features.

"Dead? You're sitting right in front of me!"

"I know. They brought me back. Why, I do not know. They say it's because the goblins have begun to rebel, but I do not believe them. I think they may have brought me back to torture me, and maybe you by association."

Narcissa's brows furrowed, and she leaned forward, her voice a whisper.

"They came to the manor the other day, searching for something. The aurors wouldn't tell me what, but they interrogated me afterwards. Some sort of book of spells we're supposedly rumored to have."

Bellatrix straightened up as an auror brought them two tall glasses of firewhiskey. The blond witch's lips curled in distaste, but took it just the same.

The Dark Lord's former First Lieutenant took a long drink before she spoke. "Father had many dark books hidden away. They must be after them. They told me that there was a goblin rebellion in the works, sure, but they're daft if they think I believe that. No, they want something, and they'll do anything to get it. They've already threatened death and Azkaban if I do not comply."

A flash of pain ran across her sister's features at the mention of the mage prison, and Bellatrix instinctively covered her sister's hand with her own.

"They sent Lucius to Azkaban. He won't be released for another ten years." Narcissa's voice was void of emotion, but the eldest sister could tell how badly she hurt.

She loved Lucius, and while Bellatrix thought the little rat wasn't good enough for her sister, he made her happy.

"They said he contributed too much to the Dark Lord, and never made up for his actions."

"They made an example out of him." Bellatrix grit her teeth, her sister's pain fueling The Voices.

Normally, they were a soft hum, but at her outrage they grew louder.

 _They hurt her._

 _They broke her._

 _Avenger her._

 _Destroy them._

 _Make them pay make them pay MAKE THEM PAY MAKETHEMPA-_

"Bellatrix, look at me." Narcissa commanded, and the other woman's eyes found hers. She recognized the look in her eldest sister's eyes, the crazed animal clawing its way out.

She delved into her mind, and put the strongest block on The Voices that she could without hurting her.

Bellatrix visibly relaxed, and shot her a shaky smile.

"They plague you still." It wasn't a question.

"I had thought death would stop them." She laughed bitterly, "I was a fool to think so. Seems they're imprinted onto my very magical core. At least in The Veil they couldn't bother me."

Narcissa's eyes shone with worry. "How can I help, Bella? I can brew you up a calming draught, or get a soul healer, or-"

"I need to die, Cissy." Black orbs met steel gray, and the younger witch leaned back in her seat at the impact of the words.

"I am nothing without that potion. My magic is useless, I am to be used as a pawn for the ministry, and they'll use me to hurt you more. Maybe I can evade them if I know what to avoid beyond. I need to be dead. But not by their hands."

Narcissa's neutral mask fell into place. "If you've decided. What do you need me to do?"

 **!**

Hermione watched as the two Black sisters conversed. She couldn't help the jealousy she felt, but chalked it up to missing her parents.

After she'd obliviated them, she'd realized that there was no counter to the spell. After the war, she spent all of the time she could researching its effects, and hoped to find a way to fix them.

So far, there was no such luck, and the fact that the monster of a woman sitting a few yards away had family, someone who she could lean on no matter what, made Hermione hurt.

She wouldn't think too hard on it, however. She had Ron, and Harry, and that was enough.

The two older witches stood abruptly, and Hermione's eyes snapped to them.

Bellatrix was pulled into a tight embrace by her younger sister, who buried her face into the slightly shorter woman's neck. Their hug spoke of sadness, of goodbye, and Hermione found herself walking towards them.

"Madam Malfoy," she began, forcing the two to part, "If you are finished, I must escort Madam Black back to her table. Another auror will show you out, and check you at the door."

Unbeknownst to the aurors, Narcissa slipped Bellatrix her wand. The aurors thought they'd taken it upon her arrival, but since the war she'd always carried a backup.

As she walked to the door, she surreptitiously started a magical fire under one of the barstools.

The aurors went into action, thinking they were under attack. As smoke, magically thicker and fast spreading, poured into the bar, spells and hexes went flying.

Bellatrix, in the midst of this, was still in Hermione's line of sight. The dark witch grabbed a stunned Granger by her collar and pulled her closer.

Then she kissed her.

Hermione felt herself crumbling, the Hermione before the Manor at war with the Hermione after. Bellatrix held her just as she had before, soft, yet sturdy. It was a sight for no one: a dazed ministry worker held up by a former death eater, while aurors fought themselves amidst smoke and colorful pain.

But all Hermione could focus on was Bellatrix. Nearly six years had passed since she'd felt the effects of the woman, and she gasped as sparks flew across her skin. She was clutching the woman's robes like a lifeline, and Bella's iron grip wouldn't let her fall. Plump lips, that had been a part of both her dreams and nightmares, crashed against her own. The slight pain, she found in the moment, was more than welcome.

She tasted of happiness, of heartache, of love, of what could have been, and the younger witch felt overloaded at the same time she craved more.

"I like to think, in another life, perhaps we would've been happy." All too soon the kiss was over, and Bellatrix gently pried her off.

Hermione opened her eyes, not realizing they'd fallen shut, and saw Bellatrix with a wand.

Pointed not at the brunette, but at her own temple.

"Goodbye, my dove." She spoke, a bittersweet smile on her lips.

"Avada…"

 **!**

 **Aaaaaaaaaaand I'm gonna end it there. I couldn't see Bellatrix just believing the ministry, especially after they'd shown nothing but distrust to her, but she would know she could be used to hurt her only remaining relative that would want anything to do with her.**

 **ALSO: I think I touched on it in an earlier chapter, but I'd like to reiterate that Bellatrix DOES NOT have her dark mark anymore. I figured dying and getting your body remade from ashes would probably cancel out any body marks, so.**

 **But yeah! Hope you all enjoyed, and I'll see you next week!**

 **ALSO PT. 2: Special shoutout to TaylorMade on Ao3. One of my steadfast reviewers, I didn't realize until recently I could reply to comments there, but I really appreciate the words of encouragement**


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